


The March of the Tin Soldiers

by shichan_unedited (shinchansgirl)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Author is Not Sorry, Death of minor OC character, F/M, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Horcruxes, M/M, Mind Links, One-Sided Attraction, Or Is It?, Potions, Severitus, WIP, author reserves the right to add other tags, including m/m pairings, maybe adoption, maybe one-sided theodore nott/harry potter, maybe pretend adoption, mentions of M/M, not one bit, potential draco malfoy/harry potter, potions are magic, they're 15 and love is confusing, trickery, when is it not?, will we ever really know?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 102,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinchansgirl/pseuds/shichan_unedited
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once Harry is in potions and actually brewing his potion correctly. The results of his potion, however, spark unexpected changes in his life - and not all of them are for the better. Perhaps ignorance really is bliss...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hadn't meant to start this - another unfinished story - but I heard the news today of Alan Rickman's passing and decided to post this anyway. 
> 
> Because "Always" pulls at my heartstrings every time.

Harry fidgeted where he sat on the Potion Lab stool.  He hadn’t moved from the brewing table since class let out, on Snape’s order.  Ron and Hermione had looked concerned, but he had motioned them on.  Defense was next and Snape wouldn't give them a pass if they waited for him. Reluctantly, they'd left.

Then Snape had given him one final command to stay put and left himself.

It was ten minutes later that the professor finally returned.  “Mister Potter,” he said gravely.  “Did anyone else see you brew today’s potion? See you brew it  _ completely _ ?”

Harry scrunched his nose up a bit as he frowned, a bit surprised at the question.  He’d messed up the potion – so what?  “I don’t know, why?”

“ _ Think _ , Potter,” Snape growled as the door opened a second time and Dumbledore walked in.

Harry shrugged.  “Hermione, maybe, before you gave her that assignment.  What’s the big deal?  I mucked up another potion,” he said with a scowl.  “No one’s going to care how I did it.”

“The problem, Mister Potter,” the Potions Professor snarled, “is that you did not, in fact, ‘muck it up.’  It would be better if you had.”

“What?” Harry asked in confusion.  The Potions Master had made very clear he’d been disappointed with Harry’s brew and thought him an idiot. He  _ always _ told Harry he'd done something wrong even when Harry had done everything right.

“The potion was brewed correctly,” Dumbledore clarified.  “At least, that’s what we believe – despite some rather far-fetched ideas on what may have been amiss.”

Harry stared at the Headmaster blankly, not understanding.  “But the potion – it didn’t produce the right result.  I must have made a mistake, right?”

“It did not produce a  _ common _ or  _ well-known _ result, my dear boy,” Dumbledore said.  “It is a result Potion Masters keep low-key because of the potential uproar when it occurs, but it is valid.  It is not a secret kept very closely, which is the cause of our concern.  Some of your classmates may inadvertently put you in danger if they speak of it in front of the wrong ears.  Therefore, it is very important that we know if anyone else saw you brew the potion correctly.”

Harry thought back on the class carefully, trying to answer despite his confusion.  “I don’t think so, sir, and even if they thought they did it wouldn’t be unusual for me to mess up somehow.  Maybe I diced something wrong or something.”

“The potion itself is not difficult,” Snape said slowly.  “Still, I would rather believe there was a mistake in the brewing than consider the alternative."

"But you made a fuss," Harry said.

Snape raised an eyebrow.  "How very eloquent, Mister Potter."

"You kept me after class, and you brought in the Headmaster," Harry continued stubbornly. "You even made me late for another class. You wouldn't have done that unless you thought something was wrong. But I still don't get what the problem is."

Snape let the silence drag on for a bit before saying: "Any mistake I can think of would have produced different results unless you somehow managed to brew a completely different potion or added a very unusual ingredient.  The only reason we wait until fifth year is due to the blood component, not difficulty.”

The Headmaster nodded, “Alas, I do not believe the defense instructor has reached this topic yet.”

“Umbridge doesn’t teach us  _ any _ topics,” Harry said, almost whining.  “We read in class and then take a test.  No practicals, no questions, no  _ anything _ .”

Snape rolled his eyes.  “Of course not.  The likes of her can never understand how knowledge from books is easily forgotten, especially in children.  She’s a Ravenclaw to the bone.  The Defense instructor  _ should _ have covered why some potions which contain blood are not considered blood magics, and therefore not illegal.”

“Now, now, Severus,” Dumbledore scolded, “the minister did have his reasons for placing her in this position.  How Professor Umbridge teaches does not affect the result of this potion.”

“We  _ will _ reproduce the potion in order to confirm the results, both with a potion brewed by Mister Potter and myself.  I fear the results will be the same, however.  I admit I did not see any mistake in brewing this period, and as it was during class there is only a small chance of magic affecting the potion.”

“Magic?” Harry asked curiously.

“The potion reacts to spells cast in the general area poorly until it reaches the final stage.  Once the potion is stable, spells and outside magics will not affect the result.  Did you not read the notes?” Snape sneered.

Harry squirmed.  “I read them.”

Snape gave him a flat look and raised a single eyebrow.  Harry found it most annoying.

“I  _ did  _ read them,” he insisted.  “It didn’t seem important.  We’re never allowed to cast spells in class anyways, so why does it matter?”

“Stupid boy,” Snape said sharply.  “Precautions are always there for a  _ reason.  _ And if you'd  _ think,  _ you'd realize other students would have experienced similar oddities because their potions would also have been affected." He paused long enough to take in the disapproving look of the Headmaster then snapped: "We must proceed as if it were a valid result.”

“But what does the result  _ mean _ ?” Harry asked, getting frustrated.

“It is a most unusual potion and we must be certain it is correct before proceeding," Dumbledore said, shaking his head slightly when Snape scowled at him. "That is why Professor Snape wishes the potion to be rebrewed immediately. He brought me here to take precautions.  If this result is correct, then it presents us with many difficulties.”

“Are you going to answer or are going to talk in circles?” Harry muttered.

“Show some respect, boy,” Snape snapped.

Harry glared at him.  “You’ve both done a stellar job of telling me just how complicated this could make things, but neither one of you will answer my question,  _ sir _ .”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, sitting on a nearby stool so he no longer towered over the sitting student, “what can you tell me about  _ Paternal Ink _ ’s results?  The ones you know, please.”

“Well, it tells if a parent is still living – that’s why goblins and such like to use it as ink in legal documents.  Like wills which can be written in potion that has a drop of the heir’s blood.  When the ink turns a certain color, then both parents are dead and the will is to be executed.  The potion should be clear just before the drop of blood is added.  If it turns pink, then only the mother is alive.  If it turns blue, then only the father is alive.  Purple indicates both are alive, and black shows both are dead.  But sir – mine turned green.”

Snape scowled.  “As usual, Potter, your sense of color is abysmal.”

“Nevertheless, the descriptions are accurate enough.  Five points to Gryffindor,” Dumbledore said cheerfully.

“So if green is right, what’s it mean?”

“An undetermined result,” Dumbledore said.

“What?” Harry asked, confused when the Headmaster didn't elaborate.

“It means the potion cannot determine if your parents are alive or dead,” Snape said flatly.

Harry frowned.  “But my parents are dead.”

“Yes, Potter, which is why we need to  _ investigate _ .  Such a result for you is unthinkable,” Snape snapped.

“Please, Severus, calm down,” Dumbledore soothed.  “We do not yet know why Harry's results were undetermined.  Perhaps there was, as Mister Potter first thought, a mistake in the brewing.”

“And perhaps there wasn’t and the boy’s been dabbling in magic he shouldn’t,” Snape countered.

“What magic?” Harry asked.  “What could make the potion give the wrong result?”

Snape scowled.

“We’ll start with the easiest answer, instead of assuming the worst, Severus. Harry, it sometimes happens that a young woman - or a young man - chooses to hide the identity of the other parent. This is very rare, but it is possible.”

“So you’re saying someone tried to hide who my father was?” Harry asked slowly.

“Or who your mother was,” Snape commented.  “Such spells do not care for gender, and the ambiguity of the potion result only tells us that someone has tried to conceal a portion of your heritage.  It does not tell us who, why, or what they have attempted to conceal.  Maybe your father tried to hide his age and the magic contaminated the result.  He was certainly vain enough to do so. Or maybe he polyjuiced himself shortly before your mother conceived you. He played enough pranks in his day that a bit of polyjuice would be nothing to him, and there can be lingering effects hours after the potion's intended use has faded."

"Or," Dumbledore said, cutting in before Harry could protest the slights on his father, "perhaps your mother created a second identity to hide during the war or work undercover. Even now we do not know who all of Lily's contacts were. It is possible it was not even their identities your parents attempted to conceal and the effect was unintended.”

Harry relaxed a little.  “So they maybe, what, put a protection spell on me that protects a little too much?”

“Precisely, my dear boy,” Dumbledore beamed.  “It is unlikely, but not impossible in theory.”

"We will have to look more carefully at how they hid themselves from the Dark Lord," Snape said. "Lily was good at finding obscure spells."

“So what do we do now?” Harry asked when the adults were quiet too long for his tastes. He wanted something to  _ do  _ now that he knew something was wrong.

“I will write an excuse for you for your next class – Defense, I believe – and you and Professor Snape will rebrew the potion.  You will then add a drop of blood to each potion, and we will proceed based on the result.”

Harry nodded.  He wasn’t upset to miss Umbridge’s class, but he wasn’t sure about redoing the Potions lesson in its place.  He realized the  _ reason _ he was missing class also couldn’t be told to Umbridge, so he was likely to end up serving detention anyways.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry crossed his arms and glared at the potion.  "This is crazy."

Snape's potion had yielded the same result, and the professor appeared strained.  He had spent most of the period in silence. "Agreed, for once, Mister Potter."

"So what now?"

Snape was obviously unhappy with the results, but then Harry had never actually seen him happy so it wasn't any different from normal.  "Wait here," Snape ordered.

Harry considered obeying for a few moments, and then went to listen at Snape's office door when the professor was out of sight. It was about his parents after all - he had a right to know.

"-identical results," Snape was saying.

"This is most troubling," Dumbledore responded, and Harry guessed he was answering through the floo. "Is there any explanation you can think of, Severus? Anything we may have overlooked? The connection to Voldemort, perhaps?"

"I - I don't think it is the issue here. I greatly hope it is something so simple. The magic of the Dark Lord is certainly dark enough, and the boy will carry that taint with him forever."

"You have doubts, though," the Headmaster said. It wasn't a question. "You've discovered something?"

"Remembered, more accurately. I wouldn't mention it, but this  _ is  _ Potter," Snape sneered. Harry could hear it in his voice even if he couldn't see the older man. "He lives to make my life miserable, as did his father. A lingering taint from the Dark Lord's magic is more probable. As is a protection spell Lily may have cast."

"What clue have you recalled, please?" the Headmaster pressed, drawing the other man back to the point.

"About 17 years ago I took a trip to Germany for… 'research'."

"I remember. We had believed you died on that trip."

"Yes, well, perceptions aside, I was very much alive. It was a dangerous trip, however, and before I left I took certain… precautions."

"What kind of precautions?" Dumbledore asked when Snape didn't offer up more himself.

"Before I left I brewed a potion.  I believe you are familiar with it - about 40 or 50 years ago it was under heavy scrutiny to determine the legality of the potion and custodial rights.  Soldier's Salvation. I brewed a batch to secure my heir should I perish, and presented the potion to James Potter."

"To James?" Dumbledore asked, surprise in his voice. "Why?"

"Does it matter?"

"It is unlike you to offer such a potion to any of the Mauraders, much less James Potter."

"My reasons are private," Snape said, softly.

"I'm sorry, but I need to know if it was truly you offering the potion or if someone else had a hand in your decision…"

"Of course it was my decision," Snape snapped, causing Harry to jump slightly. Snape was always unpredictable, but his tone was jumping around more than usual and it was making it hard to gauge how close Harry was to being discovered.

"Again, I'm sorry," Dumbledore said gently.

Snape must have felt the pressure to answer from the silence, because after a few moments he began speaking angrily: "Who  _ else _ was I supposed to give it to?" he demanded. "Lucius? He would have thrown it in my face.  Avery? He would have blackmailed me with it.  I would have sooner had a swine inherit than offer it to Lestrange.  Most of the Order would have laughed at me and then fed the potion to the Giant Squid." He paused, and Harry guessed he was collecting himself slowly, as he always did before the Headmaster. "I had the best hope with Potter, since he married Lily.  For her, there was a chance he would honor the request."

"And when we heard you had died, you think he took the potion?"

Harry breathed deeply, trying not to give himself away, as he tried not to shake. He wanted to hit something; he wanted to laugh; he wanted to cry. What did it mean? Was Snape his father? Was someone else? Could he, maybe, escape the Dursley's care? Did it have to be  _ Snape? _

Snape was already speaking again. "I don't know," he was saying. "He denied it, when I asked."

"I was under the impression the potion would not be successful if the 'soldier' lived; wouldn't that make this entire conversation moot?"

"I wasn't a soldier."

"Do you have a more accurate term?"

"The presence of the - blood donor - should make the potion impotent. There have been cases, however, where distance and near-death circumstances trick the potion. The magic is too faint to detect, and so the potion works."

"You believe James took the potion despite his denials."

"He  _ swore _ to me the potion was gone.  He  _ swore _ Lily's child was his when I demanded the potion returned to me and questioned Lily's pregnancy. Such a potion is disgraceful to most purebloods. It was why I had chosen him, remember? He married Lily, so there was a chance there could be a child and that child would not be mistreated. When he said it was gone, I assumed he found it distasteful and threw it out, just as any other pureblood would have."

"Technically speaking Harry would be Lily and James' child either way.  Biologically, at least.  Soldier's Salvation is an inheritance potion, and does not change the parentage to match the brewer's."

"What does that matter? The child of that potion stood to inherit my life's work. I deserved to know if he existed." There was a pause. "They had - difficulties conceiving and the potion is known to make conception almost absolute, so I thought the timing was odd. But he  _ swore _ to me, and at the time I was not prepared to take in a child of any age. It was advantageous to believe him, so I let myself believe."

"Lily would not steal your child, Severus," Dumbledore said gently.

"Would James, though? Did she even know?" Snape asked. "If I had pushed - if I had tested him - maybe-" he paused and took a loud breath. "Maybe the Dark Lord would have chosen someone else that night. Maybe Lily wouldn't have had to die."

"We can never know," Dumbledore said, still keeping his voice quiet. "Harry, come in here please.  I think you need to understand what it is you've overheard."

Harry pushed open the door and kept his gaze focused on the floor.  "Sorry Headmaster," he muttered. "It's just - it's my parents."

"I understand," Dumbledore said.  Harry could see now that he wasn't speaking through the floo, but had actually entered Snape's office.  Snape was scowling fiercer than ever. "Assuming this is what caused the earlier results, and that is a rather big assumption, you should know this doesn't change the fact that James and Lily are your parents. They loved you. And if this  _ is _ the cause, they are still your blood."

"As can be proven by your insatiable desire to eavesdrop," Snape almost growled.

Harry managed a glare at the man before returning his gaze to the floor. "Does it change anything, sir?"

"I don't see why it should have to," Dumbledore said. "Unless… you want it to?"

Harry bit his lip, uncertain, and chanced a glance at Snape. "Does it mean I can stay with him during the hols?"

"Didn't you hear the Headmaster, Potter?" Snape asked. "Nothing has to change, including your holiday arrangements."

"Didn't ask if it had to, professor," Harry said stubbornly. "I asked if it could."

"Certainly you'd rather stay with your loving relatives than with me. Don't mistake me for some fan who will fawn over you and praise you for living, or a shortcut to seeing your friends more often. I am not a father, Mister Potter, and have never strived to be one."

Harry shrugged. "Wasn't asking you to, sir."

Snape gave him an odd look, but it was Dumbledore who answered. "Perhaps we can arrange short meetings with Professor Snape to determine the truth of this connection first," the headmaster said. "It will take some research to find the proper tests as such occurrences are rare, and we cannot risk researching in view of the other students. We cannot presume our first logical answer is correct."

"Surely you cannot expect the boy to-"

"Now, Severus, I'm sure young Harry here is quite capable of researching Soldier's Salvation so he more clearly understands his situation while you look into determining if he is, indeed, your heir.  I think this should be considered a special project for Mister Potter - an extra class even. Yes, indeed, a class in wizarding law, especially pertaining to potions. To reinforce the severity of misbrewing a potion used in legal proceedings.  That should satisfy anyone overly curious. I'll even draw up a syllabus for you, Mister Potter, and provide suitable materials for you to review outside the Potion's classroom - to make your cover story more believable, of course," he added with a wink.

Harry stared at him wide-eyed.

The one time he brewed a potion correctly, without any mishaps or mistakes, and he was being given  _ more work _ ?

Why couldn't this ever happen to someone like Hermione, who  _ liked _ research?

* * *

"So what did the bat want, Harry?" Ron asked around a roll when Harry finally sat down at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

"He lectured me on the potion and made me rebrew it," Harry grumbled. "Even brought in Dumbledore."

"But you missed Defense! And it's Professor Snape, Ron, not 'bat'," Hermione scolded. "Professor Umbridge will be furious with him - she's already decided that you need more detentions for skipping class despite the Headmaster's note."

"Great," Harry groaned, absently rubbing his hand. "Just what I need."

"Shouldn't Professor Snape have given you a detention instead?" Hermione asked. "And why call the Headmaster?"

"Apparently Snape thought I wasn't paying enough attention in class and was intentionally misbrewing things. He wanted to kick me out of class. Dumbledore convinced him I could stay if I took on an additional class - in wizarding law. Since the potion I mucked up is used in legal proceedings, Dumbledore thought it best to reinforce the importance of properly brewed potions." Or, at least, that was the story they'd agreed on.

"That's harsh mate," Ron said. "Though it's not like you have to do anything, right?" he asked. "It's not like you want to get an OWL in law."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "Of course Harry should apply himself fully to his studies. As should you - I  _ saw _ that last Charms grade, you know. Besides, we're going to help him."

"We are?" Ron asked, looking startled.

"Of course!" Hermione said. "If the Headmaster's approving the course, it must be important to Harry - or maybe, you know,  _ Snuffles _ ."

"I have no idea what a 'Snuffles' is, Miss Granger, perhaps you could enlighten us?" Snape asked from behind Harry. The three students jumped, and several of their classmates tried to discretely lean away. "No?" Snape went on, not waiting for an answer. "How typical. Mister Potter is to complete the classwork for all of his classes on his own as they are, as you state, important to him. Unless you would rather have him accused of cheating?"

"Of course not!" Hermione almost shouted, breathless with fury and embarrassment at being caught.

"Good," Snape said slowly. "My office at seven tonight, Mister Potter.  _ Alone _ . So we can discuss all the additional work you've burdened me with."

"I can't sir," Harry said. "I have detention. With Umbridge."

"I will discuss the matter with her," Snape said. "She will surely not wish for you to miss additional classes. My office. Seven. Do not be late."

* * *

Harry would never say it, but he was actually grateful Snape had at least delayed one of his detentions with Umbridge. A night without etching words into the back of his hand was a welcome relief - even if it was with Snape. At least the excuse was 'wizarding law' and not something embarrassing like 'Remedial Potions.' Harry was certain if Snape had chosen an additional class for Harry, it would have been something humiliating.

"Mister Potter," Snape drawled when Harry entered the back office. "How good of you to join me."

"You told me to, Professor," Harry reminded him.

"Indeed I did. Would you care to explain to me why it is you have detention every night for the foreseeable future?"

Harry shrugged, rubbing the back of his hand self-consciously as if Snape would notice the slowly-forming scars. "I think McGonagall said it was because I wasn't discrete. Umbridge says it's because I lied."

"And that warrants an extremely large number of detentions?"

Harry shrugged again.

"I see. Sit down."

Reluctantly Harry took a seat. He perched on the very edge of the only chair across from Snape's desk with his backpack held loosely in his hand just in case he needed to leave quickly.

"Headmaster Dumbledore believes more lessons to be beneficial for you, and so he has drawn for you a syllabus we are to follow. While I disagree on your aptitude for such a class, the material would be beneficial to you no matter how little you learn. Thus you will be completing all the work shown on the syllabus - alone. We will not be discussing the material and your inevitable questions can be directed to the Headmaster. All assignments you will turn in to me. If you believe you have found something of urgent concern and the Headmaster is unavailable, you may address your concern to me."

"I thought I was supposed to be researching the soldier potion," Harry protested angrily.

Snape raised an eyebrow and handed over the paper containing the class outline. "I suggest you learn patience, Mister Potter, and take a close look at item one."

Grumpily, Harry took the offered parchment and scanned down to the first topic. "Inheritance potions?"

"There is a chance my potion was not the one which created this unique situation. I am not the only accomplished brewer in England, after all, and Soldier's Salvation is not the only inheritance potion in existence."

"So why'd you choose that one?"

There was a significant pause and Harry guessed the answer to his own question: "You're going to say it's private and none of my business, aren't you?"

"Precisely."

"Will you tell me if it's true? If I am your - whatever it is?"

Snape's eyebrow twitched. "If you are my heir that should be sufficient enough punishment for you to stop asking personal questions."

Harry slumped. "Can I go then?"

"Not hardly. We still have a good two hours for you to begin your work. We will continue in my private lab. I have set up a desk for you there where you will sit, study, and remain silent. Any notes you take will remain in the lab."

"Why?"

"Because you have too many friends who will try to complete your work for you," Snape growled, "and I am not about to let you slide through classes on fame alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am certain the idea of a potion being used for this plot device has been done before, probably hundreds of times, and is about as original as de-aging potions and animagus accidents. Still, I chose this route because it is the most plausible - Severus is, after all, a Potions Master and potions are his specialty. I'm sorry for the cliche. And please remember at this point all Severus and Albus are presenting are theories. Nothing has been confirmed yet.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry glanced up nervously at the brewing Potions Master, then looked back down at the textbook Dumbledore had provided him. This was their fourth session, and typically Harry avoided looking at Snape at all. This was the third time he'd glanced up in as many minutes.

Three times was apparently too much as Snape set the ladle to the side with an exasperated sigh and demanded: "What?"

"Nothing."

"If it were nothing than neither of us would have to suffer through this farce, Potter, now tell me the problem before you go blabbing questions to your insufferable friends and students start asking the wrong questions to the wrong people."

Harry's face was red. The question was, really, completely inappropriate and very intensely personal.

But it was his  _ mum _ .

" _ Now _ , Potter."

"A lot of the potions in here," Harry started, then hesitated, "it's just - well."

"Spit it out."

"Didyouhavesexwithmymum?"

Snape's face went white, then red, then white again.

"What in Merlin's name does that old fool have you studying?" It was almost a whisper.

"Inheritance potions," Harry answered, still redder than he'd ever been in his life all the way to his ears. "And a lot of them, well." He bit his lip.

Snape looked about ready to blast something; Harry thought the only thing truly holding him back was the fact that they were in his lab. Snape hated wasting ingredients. "Those potions are not in common use by any witch or wizard, and as far as I am aware your mother only had eyes for your father. Even when those eyes were less than fond."

"What-what about Dad?" Harry stammered out.

The cauldron bubbled furiously, and Harry was quite sure the potion wasn't supposed to be that hot. He wasn't going to point it out to Snape, though. "I am going to murder the old fool myself," Snape muttered. "Giving such thoughts to a  _ child _ -"

"I'm not a child," Harry bit out. "And it's relevant to my  _ studies _ ."

"My sex life is not relevant to anyone's studies," Snape snapped. "And it is a highly inappropriate and crass subject - particularly between a teacher and a student!"

"Well excuse me," Harry muttered, "I thought your sex life was the whole reason we had this  _ problem _ in the first place."

"Get out," Snape hissed.

Harry gladly obeyed.

* * *

Severus took several deep breaths and did his best to calm his racing heart. It wouldn't do to murder the savior of the wizarding world, after all, even if the boy had somehow managed to muck up banishing the Dark Lord the first time.

He was a fifth year, yes, but he was still a  _ child _ ; he had no business asking after his professor's sex life.

But he did, in a way. Severus shuddered at the invasion of privacy, instinct making him close and lock the door to the lab before anyone witnessed him in such a state. Calmer, he doused the flame under the cauldron and banished the mess he'd made of the bruise balm. His stock was getting low and the potion was fairly simple. He'd thought he'd be able to manage brewing it while Potter quietly completed his studies.

He never thought he'd be asked about Lily. He should have realized -

Of course the boy had questions. He didn't want to answer them. He wanted to keep his memories of Lily to himself, hoard them like the precious gems they were, and he despised exposing himself to a James Potter look-a-like.

He would have to discuss with the Headmaster the importance of choosing age-appropriate books for a student's study.

Severus took another deep breath, knowing already the sad look the Headmaster would give him. He had already talked to Dumbledore about certain events which were unfolding - Draco Malfoy doomed to follow in his father’s footsteps, so many of his snakes going home to DeathEater meetings that scared them silly, and Harry Potter destined to die - so many children suffering. As much as Snape hated the boy, he did not wish for Potter to die. He didn't want to repay Lily that way - to repay James Potter by letting his son die. At the same time, he could barely stand to look at the boy without feeling a surge of guilt, shame, regret, anger, resentment - too many feelings to name. He was overwhelmed every time he saw those green eyes framed by that wild mass of hair.

Nothing was ever easy, Severus reminded himself. He set to work cleaning the cauldron and tried to banish the Potter problem from his mind.

He never quite managed.

He missed Lily.

* * *

Severus had planned to talk to Potter during their next session and get all less-than-appropriate questions answered. He'd even cleared out his schedule for the evening and set a bottle of firewhiskey in his kitchen to help him recover from the experience. His Slytherins had been informed not to see him unless death was certain.

That was before Potter came in five minutes late trying to sloppily apply a bandage to the back of his hand. "What are you doing?" Severus demanded, spotting blood. Could the child not go an hour without getting into a quarrel with someone?

"Nothing," Potter lied.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I was under the impression you had detention with Professor Umbridge. You somehow injured yourself between her office and mine and just so happened to have bandages on you soaked in-" he inhaled briefly and obviously "-murlap essence, which is used to prevent scarring. Hardly standard issue for Madame Pomfrey." It wasn't common knowledge for students, either.

Harry shrugged.

Severus scowled, annoyed at the non-answer, and held out his hand. "Let me see."

"Why?"

"So I can determine if you require a trip to the nurse's office, Mister Potter," Severus growled. "I'm not about to let you bleed out on my floor."

Reluctantly, Harry held out his hand and Severus removed the sloppily-applied poultice.  There were words carved into the flesh on the back of his hand, a bloody 'I must not tell lies.'

"She wouldn't believe me when I said Voldemort had returned," Harry said quietly.

"Considering her beliefs, I'm surprised she doesn't have you writing 'I'm a dirty mudblood liar,'" Snape said. He was almost disappointed at his own lack of surprise. This certainly explained the unusually large number of detentions for a simple classroom outburst. "Umbridge is dangerous - primarily because her intentions are pure. She believes - truly believes - she's helping you. And that's not the type of person you want to cross. You should learn to keep your head down. And to not say his name. Even if you don't fear him, others do."

"Doesn't matter," Harry muttered. "She's got it out for me - she's already said I will have detentions until this permanently scars. She looks for reasons to give me more, no matter what I do. Sort of like you do sometimes."

"I'll see what I can do," Severus said, sighing and ignoring the muttered comment slighting him. One more favor for Lily and James, but he could earn some favor back by uncovering this mess to certain people. "Blood quills are illegal to use, and to use them on children goes against school statutes  _ and _ the law. Did you serve other detentions prior to her using the quill?" If she had used it on his Slytherins he would have heard, but the threat was there. It was still early in the year. And there were other prominent families in other houses - ones who would not visit Snape over such a matter.

Harry shook his head.  "I got detention the first class I ever had with her, and the first time I went in she said I was going to be writing lines with her special quill, and I wouldn't need any ink."

"Did you mention this to anyone else?"

"Professor McGonagall. She told me to keep my head down and tough it out, basically. Hermione told me about the murlap."

Severus' eyes flashed. The savior of the wizarding world was taking medical advice from a _student_ who had no idea what she was doing. Minerva was slipping. "I'll have a word with Lucius, then. Professor McGonagall likely already informed the headmaster and found him incapable of taking action."

"But doesn't Malfoy work for Voldemort?" Harry asked, scowling. "What could he do that the Headmaster can't?"

"The Headmaster is tied because he is in poor favor with the Ministry. Mister Malfoy, on the other hand, has many strings of influence which have been unaffected by the present political situation. Any punishment Professor Umbridge is willing to use on  _ you _ she'd be willing to use on his son," Severus said darkly. "Mister Malfoy will recognize the threat and take action, assuming I leave out the name of her current target and that Draco hasn't yet informed his father."

"Malfoy hasn't had detention," Harry pointed out. "He'd love to see me hurt. I'm surprised he hasn't asked to watch."

"Draco isn't stupid. Foolish, yes, but not stupid. I suggest you learn the difference. As for his father, Lucius may not be on the same side of the war as you but he is fiercely protective of his family. It is why he wishes to see the Headmaster discredited and why he will protect his son from even potential threats with all he has."

Harry pulled his hand away from where Snape had bandaged it properly. "Would you protect your son?"

"What?"

"If I'm yours, would you protect me?"

Severus' eyes narrowed. "One, we are striving to discover if you are my  _ heir _ , not my son and two, I work to ensure you stay alive every day already."

"That's debatable, but would you protect me  _ with all your have  _ if I was yours?"

"You are basing your hopes on an unproven assumption," Snape warned. "I am not the sort of man you should lay unfounded desires upon."

"Make me your son."

"Don't be foolish-"

"Do it!" Harry shouted, jumping up and gesturing wildly, hating the quiver in his own voice. "I'll hide right under her nose as someone new - your son, brought in to protect him from the war while Harry Potter goes to America for training or therapy or  _ whatever _ . He can  _ die  _ for all I care! I can't take it anymore. Even if you hate me you've never hurt me the way they have."

Confusion flashed in Snape's eyes and Harry waited until he thought Snape might actually  _ get it _ . He couldn’t  _ say it _ , he never talked about how sometimes he didn’t trust Dumbledore or how he sometimes wished he had any family other than his own. 

"They hate magic," Harry said, staring his Professor in the eye to try and drive the point home. Snape could read his mind, right? Silently he dared Snape to contradict him and call him a spoiled brat and a liar while remembering his relative’s treatment. "Tried to work it out of me. She hates me, enough to make me hurt myself. Being Harry Potter isn't fame and glory, Professor - it's a curse."

"You're distraught," Snape countered. "And not thinking clearing. Go lay down in my office - tap the armchair with your wand and say 'sleep' and it will transfigure into a cot. I will have a discussion with Lucius - and then with the Headmaster."

"But-"

"I will  _ consider _ your proposal, Mr. Potter, but such decisions are not made spur-of-the-moment and out of blood loss. Go lay down and get some rest. I'll have Madame Pomfrey see to you shortly."


	4. Chapter 4

"You look distraught, Severus," Lucius said, holding out a glass of something dark. Severus could smell the alcohol from across the room as he entered. "Have a drink."

"I wish I could, Luce - you have no idea how much - but I'll need to return to the school tonight. Is our Lord here?" He'd thought it over, and there was really only one way to broach the subject with Lucius that wouldn't sound suspicious. If they decided not to go forward with the plan he could always claim his 'son' died later.

Lucius looked surprised at the inquiry. "No, he's still treating with the vampires in Germany."

"Good," Severus said. "No offense to our Lord, but I didn't come here tonight about the war."

"Why did you come here?" Lucius asked. "It's been many years since you sought my company for any other reason." He sounded slightly bitter about it, too, and Severus made a mental note to visit Draco more often in the summer.

"I - Luce, have you ever questioned whether or not Draco is safe at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," Lucius said. He set the drink down and focused more seriously on his former friend. "Should I?"

"I - I have a secret. You can't tell anyone. Promise me." The secret to getting Lucius to believe him was to seem vulnerable. Lucius Malfoy had always believed strong men were deceitful. And Malfoy would know; he was himself, as was his father before him.

"Of course, old friend-"

" _ No one _ , Lucius," Severus emphasized. "Not Draco, not Narcissa, not even our Lord."

"This sounds serious," Lucius said, coming closer and sitting in the wing-backed chair before the fireplace.

"More personally serious than anything else," Severus admitted. "It has very little impact beyond myself and one other."

"Have a seat," Lucius urged. "Why the need for secrecy if the issue has so little impact?"

Severus gracefully took a seat at the end of the couch. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, thinking quickly as he spoke. "I'd rather make a decision before announcing facts and let the world tell me what I should and should not do. You know how people - your wife in particular - pesters once she gets an idea in her head. Besides, it’s no one's business beyond those I wish to include."

"You always were very private in your affairs," Lucius conceded. "Part of what makes you a good spy is how well you keep secrets - from Dumbledore and our Lord."

"I've kept nothing from our Lord which would impact our efforts," Severus insisted. "He knows he need only ask and I will find a way to procure the information for him if it is at all possible. It's my personal life I hesitate to share. Though lately I will admit I haven't had much of one  _ to  _ share regardless."

"You've not yet shared what it is you are so reluctant to share with others."

"And you've not yet promised to keep my secrets."

"Secrets bring us down, Severus."

"Secrets keep us alive! Where would you be if the minister knew you'd been funding the Dark Lord? Where would Draco go if Aurors found out he used your wand to learn magic over the summers? My God, Luce, it's not like I'm asking for an unbreakable vow - just your word. I trust your word." Or at least he trusted it enough.

"Calm yourself," Lucius said quietly. "I did not say I wouldn't; I'm just not as good at secrets as you are. I promise not to reveal your secret unless you yourself reveal it first."

"I have a son. Fourteen," Severus lied, dropping his mouth into his hands both to muffle the words and to show his distress at saying them. He had to hope Potter could keep up with any differences between himself and the son Severus was crafting. Not being the same age as Harry Potter and Lucius' own son would help Harry hide if they went through with this fool scheme, a small step, but one that would be hard to remember. If he could have Severus would have made Potter a girl as well to throw everyone off. But that was not only unethical, it was impractical. "He's been living with his mother's relatives - they were much better suited for child rearing than I am. To be honest I had forgotten the boy existed." The secret to a good lie was staying as close to the truth as possible.

"Had?"

"His caretakers recently passed on. No large loss, as they weren't the -  _ best _ \- of people," Severus said, sneering a bit to show his distaste. "As they are now deceased, his care now falls back to me. I was notified weeks ago but thought to leave him where he was so changes in his life were as few as possible. Considering the boy hates me I had assumed keeping contact to a minimum was preferred. Recent events have me questioning the decision and wondering if any school is safe - even Hogwarts." A small part of him wanted to go through with this, wanted to erase James Potter from Harry Potter's life. He wasn't sure if he should be ashamed of that part of himself.

"I've never seen you so rattled," Lucius said, looking pleased. He handed Severus the still-full glass. "Have a drink. It will calm your nerves." He waited for Severus to take a sip before asking: "What happened? At the school, I mean."

"A student came to me today with wounds on his hand. It was still bleeding. Nothing had been done to treat it."

"At Hogwarts?" Lucius asked, honestly confused.

Severus nodded. "One of the instructors decided to use a blood quill for her detentions."

"A blood quill?" Lucius repeated in shock. "Surely you are mistaken-"

"The marks are not easily faked and his distress was clear. There is little else it could be unless a scarring curse was used, and those are forbidden on school grounds. The boy is too shy to come forward and afraid of further retribution, so I can't even claim mistreatment. The headmaster thinks to let such an atrocity slide - according to him if the student isn't willing to come forward the student must be lying."

"The old man is going senile," Lucius muttered. "Even owning a blood quill is considered in poor taste. Actually using one…"

"Forcing a  _ student _ to use one. To scar himself. The boy was in tears - a  _ sixth _ year," Severus lied again. Small lies mixed with truth so Lucius wouldn’t find them.

"School law states such actions cannot be used as a form of punishment," Lucius said, thinking out loud.

"Our ministry-approved watchdog is rewriting rules as she sees fit, ignoring school statute. To a ridiculous degree. I agree with her on some points, but if the result is a teacher terrorizing students - I wouldn't want my son in such an environment."

"Perhaps you are right," Lucius said. "Miss Umbridge must be overburdened if she has overlooked the use of a blood quill in the school. As for your son - perhaps it would be better if he were in your sights. It's not as if it is his decision."

"I'm almost glad he's not here," Severus countered, "except I have no way of knowing if his current school is better. He won't write to me. He's old enough to think me a poor father for not taking him in as a child."

"His behavior is childish," Lucius said, waving the concern away. "He will grow out of it so long as you don't allow it to fester. He will understand when he is a father himself and is faced with similar decisions. Who was his mother?"

"A girl from my childhood home," Severus answered honestly. "She never attended schools - her parents couldn't afford it and wouldn't accept charity. I called her Melody, though I doubt it was her true name. Her parents didn't want anyone to know her name, even after she was gone."

"You deserve better."

Severus huffed a barking laugh. "I am a poor man, Lucius. I once had the good Prince name backing me, yes, but I lost most of my money to the Ministry in fees after the war, and many of my friends during it."

Lucius remained silent for a moment and Severus took another sip of his drink. "We all lost friends. Family," the blonde finally reminded his guest.

"Yes, but you have some left. Won't you reconsider a position at Hogwarts?" Severus asked. "You have a good deal of potions background-"

"But you are the Master of Potions," the blonde smirked. "No, I will not take that role. But I will suggest to the board that the increased number of rules should be backed by uniformity of punishment - and punishment equal to the offense," he added. "We should set a good example for our children."

Severus nodded. "Punishment should be rational," he said. "And preferably useful. Even imbeciles can prepare ingredients."

"They should be overseen by a third, unbiased party," Lucius commented. "After all, unsupervised punishment is how this mishap was permitted to happen. And I might just drop a few noises in the right ears about Dumbledore's foul practice of allowing torture."

Severus nodded. "If you think that best course of action. I'd prefer you by my side - you know that - but I know you have other duties, old friend. I'm just feeling lonely. It will pass."

"If you're lonely then visit more," Lucius suggested. "Tell me what's happening - more than just the bad. My son tells me Potter has had detention nearly every night. Our Lord would be greatly amused to find him at one of these detentions."

"If he were I'm sure the whole castle would be hearing about his torture," Severus snorted. "The boy would never keep it quiet and he is Dumbledore's golden boy. Dumbledore would sooner level Hogwarts."

"True," Lucius conceded, rolling his eyes. "Potter is a spoiled brat. The entire Wizarding World would hear him scream once the papers found out."

Severus took a large sip of the drink - some sort of bubbly drink mixed with Rum - and hummed.

"Tell me about your son," Lucius pestered.

Severus scowled. "I never should have told you that. You have your wife's bad habit of picking at wounds until you get all the details you want."

"So don't make me pick at the wound," Lucius said reasonably. "You wanted my opinion; indulge me with details."

Severus sighed. "Only if you get me another glass. And don't press too much - I haven't had any interaction with the boy since he was a year old. It was a blessing not to have to remember birthdays and holidays. I have no idea how to be a father."

Lucius happily poured more rum into Severus' glass.

* * *

"How is he?" Severus asked as he exited the floo.

"I've given him dreamless sleep," Pomfrey explained. "Given the circumstances I doubt staying in the infirmary would be beneficial. I would protect him while I could, of course, but that foul toad has been itching for a reason to fire all of us."

"Indeed," Severus agreed. He searched his stores for a pepper-up potion and wished sobriety potions had longer shelf lives. "Has the Headmaster been informed?" Spotting the bottle he swallowed a healthy mouthful.

"Of course. It was his suggestion the boy stay here."

"In my office? Absurd."

There was a knock on the door. Pomfrey confirmed it was Albus before letting the older man in and recasting the privacy charms. "I see I have arrived in time," Albus smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"In time for what?" Severus asked. He set the empty vial down on his desk and shook off the remaining tingles of the potion. "The boy is asleep and cannot stay in my office."

"Yet moving him to the infirmary places him under the eye of our enemies," Dumbledore pointed out. "And here he can receive additional instruction from you, Severus. On both topics."

"Neither are fit for a child to learn," Severus snapped. "And here both he and I will fall under even worse scrutiny. What do I tell the Dark Lord when he learns I have the savior sleeping on my couch? He will demand I lure the child out and draw him away from the castle. And what do I tell our ministry supervisor when she accuses me of having Potter in my bed?"

"Don't be silly. He is safest in these walls," Dumbledore said. "We must work to keep him here and the best way to do so is to keep a low profile."

"In the dungeon?" Severus asked, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice. He was fairly certain he had heard that wrong. "He should be in his tower - or better yet in a hospital bed with a blood replenishing potion and anti-scar bandages!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "He has proven to have a nasty habit of provoking Miss Umbridge," Dumbledore said. "I have tried to have her removed but neither my testimony nor Harry's would be accepted at the moment."

"So we do nothing?" Severus asked. "You're all but inviting her to fire me so she can get her minions to teach potions instead. I will  _ not _ have those imbeciles in my lab, Albus."

"Harry's safety and isolation are most important at the moment," Albus said sadly.

"He isn't safe anywhere," Severus countered. "The Dark Lord hunts him. Not even his relative's home will be safe for long. The Dark Lord knows where it is - he has for years - and he searches for a way to breach the wards. He will eventually, and when he does he will not be merciful."

"What do you suggest, Severus?" Albus asked gently. "What else can we do?"

"You are certain he has this - bond - with the Dark Lord? It cannot be broken?" Severus asked quietly.

"Only in death," Albus confirmed.

Pomfrey gasped.

"I'm sorry my dear," Albus soothed. "But it is true. Unless either Harry or the Dark Lord dies they will remain connected."

"Well I know who I'm rooting for," the woman huffed. "It's inhumane to expect someone so young to be faced with such darkness."

"You had a thought, Severus?" Albus asked.

Severus nodded. "My thought is that we can do nothing until the boy learns control over this connection. And while he learns he should have no distractions."

Albus beamed. "He'll stay with you then."

"He'll stay in the infirmary," Severus contradicted. "Under quarantine. Dragon Pox should be a lovely reason to keep any undesirables away." Professor and student alike. He'd need to find a double to play Potter for a while. If he was going through with this he would do it the right way. "Dragon Pox would also provide a reason why his potion results were off to anyone too curious . We still must consider that someone saw him brew  _ Paternal Ink _ correctly." Potter couldn't know until the last minute, until the boy had control over the bond. Dumbledore could find other pawns; the son he was crafting would not be a part of the old man's war games.

He'd kill Harry Potter and bring his son to Hogwarts.

He hoped Lily would forgive him.


	5. Chapter 5

"The symptoms of Dragon Pox are a high fever, scaly patches, and fire breath. We will use this potion to give you the appearance of being diseased. Take a small mouthful every morning."

Harry nodded, accepting the vial from Snape. He’d woken up in the infirmary, and the Potions Master had appeared not long after to explain - in as few words as possible - the plan. He wasn’t sure _why_ (and he wasn’t about to ask Snape, of all people), but he was going to pretend to be sick. Harry felt a small stab of disappointment that Dumbledore hadn’t shown up to explain himself. Dumbledore would have been more inclined to give him details. "I guess I can't see my friends then?" he asked.

"Written communication only," Snape insisted. "And as little as possible. Dragon Pox is highly contagious. Your friends must also never be made aware that you are not actually sick."

"Have you-" Harry hesitated, bit his lip, then tried again: "Have you thought about - you know."

"Regretting the idea already? How typically Gryffindor."

Harry shrugged and fiddled with the vial in his hands. It wasn’t like he would have much of a choice if Snape didn’t agree to it; he couldn’t just randomly claim to be someone else’s son. And he had no idea how to go about it, either, or if it was even possible.

"While you are here you will have more freedom to study two non-related subjects outside your schoolwork. These will be your primary tasks during your isolation. The first: Soldier's Salvation. I have found the potion which will reveal if it was used on you and will begin brewing tomorrow. It takes three weeks to complete."

"Three weeks-!"

"Be grateful it is only that long. The potion itself took six months - shall I have you brew it to better understand why?"

"No sir," Harry answered grumpily. Three weeks was still a long time, but at least he would be away from Umbridge for a while. He would write to his friends as often as he could, but he had no idea how many letters Snape would actually let him send. Maybe the nurse could be persuaded to send some letters for him...

"Good. The second subject you shall study is occlumency, or the process of occluding your mind. It is the Headmaster's opinion that you share a mental connection with the Dark Lord. This allows you to view things you otherwise would not be able to. But such links always - _always -_ work both ways. When you have access to his mind he has access to yours. If you can see through him, he can see through you. It is, perhaps, a minor miracle he has not yet used this to his advantage."

"So he can see what I see?" Harry had seen glimpses of an old house, and Wormtail, in the past. Had it been real? What if Voldemort had seen him at the Dursleys?

"Worse. The Dark Lord is skilled at mind magic. He can see what you _think_. He could search your mind for the information he wants or send you false visions to incite a reaction. You will learn to occlude your mind. This is non-optional. Your mind knows too much, and while I would rather obliviate you that is not an option the Headmaster will accept. The first step is to clear your mind. This will help prevent your mind from connecting with the Dark Lord's unintentionally. There are mediation books on the table there to help you with this. I will be by after supper to test you. I suggest you do your best; the Dark Lord will have no mercy when he attacks."

"And you will?"

"Compared to the Dark Lord?" Snape asked, an eyebrow raised. "Compared to him my attacks are gentle, though you will not believe it when we begin."

* * *

Severus had doubted his plan several times - he still did - but had to proceed as if he were really going to do it. As if he were going to turn the _brat_ into his son. If he decided to make Potter his son too late then he would be unable to orchestrate a smooth transition and there would be suspicions and doubts, but if went ahead as if that was his decision he could back out up until the moment of the change and no one would know any different. 

“Uncle Sev?” Draco asked, looking up from where he was studying on the couch. Vincent and Gregory were with him, as was typical, and were completing proper versions of their assignments. They would complete half-competent versions later. Why they felt the need to pretend to be imbeciles was beyond him.

“Uncle Sev, are you okay?” Draco pressed when Severus didn’t answer.

“Yes, Draco, I am fine,” Severus answered, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “I am simply distracted. What did you need?”

“I was wondering if you were coming for Yule. It’s two months away, you know.”

Severus held back a sigh. It was Draco’s way of asking if he would be there for Christmas, as traditionally he had made a habit of spending the time between Yule and New Years with his godson and Draco’s family. Christmas was, without a doubt, Draco’s favorite day. It even outshined his birthday. “I’m not sure, Draco. There is still a good deal of time between now and then and something may come up.”

“But do you _plan_ to?” Draco pressed.

Severus rolled his eyes. “I rarely have other plans. I thought you were doing homework?”

“It’s boring,” Draco complained, frowning down at his parchment as if the assignment would complete itself. “Why does everyone want you to have an arithmancy OWL? It’s not like it’s actually _useful_.”

“It is very useful for anyone who works in the creation of new spells or potions, or for work such as cursebreaking,” Severus countered absently. “It can also be useful for aurors - though usually they prefer brute force - or for more precise magic. Your robes, for example, were custom tailored using magical math. And though I have no idea how, wandmakers tend to measure anyone buying a wand as a suitable place to begin searching for the proper match.”

Draco frowned. “I don’t see what these charts have to do with all that,” he pouted. “The professor just likes to make it complicated, I bet. Like you do with Gryffindors and Potions.”

“I do not make potions harder for Gryffindors,” Severus said sternly, “and I’ll thank you not to go spreading those rumors. Anyone can do well in my class if they apply themselves to it and do the readings properly. It is not my fault Gryffindors have a tendency to skim the theory and move to the practical without understanding why.”

“Granger doesn’t,” Vincent muttered. “Bet she memorized the book.”

“Bet she should have been in Ravenclaw,” Gregory said.

“Can the hat do that?” Draco asked, frowning. “Make mistakes?”

“The hat does not make mistakes,” Severus reassured him, “but sometimes students - particularly students with muggle backgrounds - can fit into multiple houses and the hat then looks for a preference. Miss Granger would have made a fine Ravenclaw, however facing a new school and the possibility of magic when she grew up thinking there was no such thing also takes bravery. It would be like - like you choosing to go to school in Asia, where you didn’t know any of the customs or even the language. That takes a lot of courage, and more than a bit of foolhardiness. And it would also take a lot of dedication to learning. Thus, both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw traits would emerge.”

“It didn’t give me a choice,” Draco muttered.

“You likely didn’t show any traits for any other house,” Severus said. “You were raised to be a Slytherin, and had no desire to be anywhere else. Muggleborns don’t grow up learning about the four houses.”

“What about wizarding traditions?” Vincent asked. “Why don’t muggleborns ever do any of those? We celebrate Samhain in the dorm, but the only official thing the Headmaster does is have a feast.”

Severus had nearly been livid at the damage to the dorms when he found out how the seventh years had ‘celebrated’, but remembering his own school days had curbed his anger. At least they had kept it confined. The younger years had also kept their celebrations to their own dorm rooms as well, dressing as different magical creatures and drawing upon that creature for strength, support, or guidance. Draco’s typical habit was to dress as a dragon and use a single dragon scale to ask for the strength to smite his enemies, though Severus heard a rumor this year he was planning to dress as a Veela and ask for luck in love. He wondered what his son would do if he had a chance to participate.

Which was a silly thought, since he didn’t have a son.

“The Headmaster is not fond of the Samhain tradition, and several other light families are also against it, because it requires a piece of the creature.” Severus said to distract himself from such thoughts. “While sometimes gathering these ingredients is easy and safe and does not harm the creature, going after a dragon for a scale or a tooth can be dangerous. And some wizards would harm the creature, which is apparently too much for soft-hearted bureaucrats. Capturing a snidget and asking it for speed in flight for quidditch matches is apparently a cruel fate for the bird.”

“But a lot of creature ingredients can be bought,” Draco protested. “I always can get what I need from the apothecary, and sometimes even the magical menagerie will sell the bits creatures shed. And some creatures donate.”

“Not everyone can afford to buy such things,” Severus said. “Especially for something they consider to be foolishness. To muggleborns that would be like asking the sky to rain when it was perfectly sunny out and without casting any spells.”

“Do they have to ruin it for the rest of us, then?” Vincent complained. “If they don’t want to, I don’t care. But just because they don’t want to doesn’t mean I _can’t_.”

“For many things, that is not the case,” Severus answered, sighing as he realized they had gone completely off subject and he had allowed himself to be used as a distraction from their homework. He truly was tired if he was allowing his fifth year students to manipulate him. Dealing with Potter before breakfast and then going through a day of classes with gossipping students must have been more tiring than he thought. And it wasn’t over yet. He still had to attempt to teach the boy to shield his mind. “You have ten minutes to finish up, then it’s off to dinner with you. I have other places I need to be.”

Draco glanced up at him, then asked the question that had been circulating the entire student body all day. “Is it true that Potter’s sick?” he asked. “And that you have to go look after him?”

“Unfortunately,” Severus almost growled. “And you are to stay as far away from the Hospital Wing as you can until he’s properly quarantined. Fool boy went and got himself infected with Dragon Pox, of all things.”

Draco grinned. “He’ll be out for _weeks_ , then! Ravenclaw will definitely win the next quidditch match against Gryffindor if Potter’s out!”

Severus went back to his book and wondered at how, even with everything going on, Draco still seemed to stay such a child.

* * *

It only took a few seconds to realize he wasn't alone, but it took several minutes for Harry to realize why that was important and identify the presence as Professor Snape. It took less than a breath for Harry to decide he didn't care; he wasn't getting up for the man.

"I know you're awake," Snape drawled. "What I don't know is why you're lying about instead of studying those texts I lent you."

Harry hiccupped and flames sputtered out of his mouth.

Snape raised an eyebrow at the rolling yellow licks of fire. "Several inches higher than expected at such a low dose, with a brightness that indicates a fever has set in. Well played, but no excuse for allowing such important studies to falter."

"Bad reaction," Harry said tightly, hardly moving his lips so he could keep the fires to a minimum. He already felt bad about the three bedsheets he'd burnt. It was only the first day! "You may have actually given me dragon pox."

"That was the general idea," Snape admitted.

"Traitor," Harry hissed, but he didn't have the energy to put much bite into it.

"I have my reasons," Snape said, allowing a bit of a sneer to enter his voice. Harry recognized someone only pretending, though he didn't know why. Snape generally hated him enough for the feelings to be honest.

Maybe he was as tired as Harry was?

"Our precious Headmaster has suggested you learn this art, and so I am obligated to teach you. I suggest you learn your lessons well; there may be unexpected gains from being well trained in the mind arts."

"What kind of gains?" Harry asked, feeling his lower lip tremble a bit. He was determined not to cry; he wasn't even sure why he felt like he needed to. No adult had ever treated him well. Snape wasn't going to be any different.

"I don't know," Snape said. "Do you have a problem with the word 'unexpected'?"

"No," Harry grunted.

"Then I fail to see what part of my prior statement you are unable to comprehend. I suggest we begin with meditation. Your current condition will make the exercise easier, provided you aren't so unproductive as to fall asleep. Sit up."

The white sheets felt like sandpaper beneath his hands, sterilized too many times to be soft. But he pushed himself up and faced the professor, demanding: "Are you trying to kill me?"

"That depends on who you ask," Snape answered with a smirk. "And the answer may not conform to prior presumptions. Sit up straight, close your eyes, and clear your mind."

"How do you do that?" Harry snapped as he hunched on the bed.

"Simply empty your mind of all thoughts, Mister Potter, and stop asking inane questions. It shouldn't be too hard a task for you seeing as you have very few thoughts to begin with. We only need concern ourselves with keeping your mouth shut."

"Hey!" Harry protested, glaring. "I think!"

"You think what?" Snape asked. One black eyebrow raised and challenged the student to provide an impressive answer.

Harry shut his mouth and refused to rise to the bait.

"Well at least you can learn silence, given the proper motivation," Snape sneered.

Harry let himself fall backwards, bouncing a bit on the bed as his head fell against the pillow. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes, but Snape's presence irritated him and he still didn't know what to do.

He heard the whispered spell and before he could really understand what it meant he was back in the potions lab during his first year. Snape was asking about powdered root of asphodel, but Harry hadn't been able to read his textbook yet and all he had in his notebook was "brew glory, bottle fame, put a stopper in death."

Harry felt his anger boil up inside him, but he couldn’t move - couldn't change what had already happened. And just like that he was back at the Dursley's watching as his Uncle locked away his trunk of school supplies for the summer - the reason why he hadn't been able to study playing out before his eyes as if it were happening at that very moment. "There'll be none of that in _this_ house," his Uncle said. "Now get upstairs . We've guests tonight. It won't do to have them see you around."

Harry breathed in a hard gasp. He was back in the infirmary; Snape had left his mind. He was clutching the light blue pajamas to his chest as he continued to take in quick, hard breaths. He had no illusions about who had controlled that situation. Snape had willingly left.

"That wasn't even an _attempt_ ," Snape growled. "Again."


	6. Chapter 6

_Ron,_

_Thanks for coming to see me yesterday. Sorry Madame Pomphrey wouldn’t let you in. Apparently I’ve got something called Dragon Pox and it’s really contagious. She’s not saying when I’ll be out or when I can have visitors. Right now the only ones who can see me are her and Snape, to check on me and give me potions. Did you know Snape is a minor healer? I didn’t either until Madame Pomphrey told me. Apparently you need to be both a Potions Master and at least a Minor Healer to brew certain potions. Who knew?_

_Now that you have something to distract Hermione with, how’s the team doing? I’m going to be missing a lot of practices but I hope I’m out of here before the next game. It can’t take that long, right? You’d better let Ginny practice being seeker - even if I am out before the next game she’ll need to take over when we graduate._

_I hope a certain class isn’t too boring. I won’t be able to practice like we talked about - I’m still breathing fire and that’s going to last until I’m cured, apparently._

_I think you’ll be allowed to write to me. They’re more concerned about what comes out of my area than what comes in._

_Hope to see you soon!  
Harry_

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Thanks for sending me my homework. Snape has me working the lessons from that extra class I was assigned since he can still see me and it’s all textbook stuff, but I’ve been really tired and haven’t been able to do much. They told me I have Dragon Pox, which is apparently a wizarding disease. I didn’t even know wizards got sick! Aren’t most of the hospitals dedicated to injuries and spell damage?_

_Don’t worry though. I’m not allowed to send many letters since they have to be checked over for my Dragon germs first, but I’m pretty sure they’ll let you send stuff in for me. Just not too many books, okay? I’m still breathing flames and I sometimes set things on fire when I’m not careful._

_I’d write more but my hand is starting to hurt again. Don’t worry. Madame Pomphrey is taking care of you-know-what and thinks it won’t even scar. Snape was furious when he saw we’d been bandaging it ourselves. Apparently we’re supposed to see the nurse for these sorts of things._

_See you soon,  
Harry_

* * *

Harry glanced over the return letters from his friends and sighed. Hermione’s was long - typical when she was nervous and knew it was safe to write - and scolding. She thought he should be making every effort to do all his assignments, not just the ones Snape was pressuring him to do, but she didn’t get how tired he was. 

Sometimes it hurt just to move.

Ron’s was more cheerful, though it was short, and he’d started a long-distance chess game. He even got Madame Pomphrey to move a set next to Harry’s bed. Harry had already moved the pawn into position for Ron’s move, and had started his next letter to Ron with his own move. It would be a long, drawn out game, but at least he could sometimes distract himself by trying to work out what move to make next.

And he didn’t have to worry about accidentally setting the pieces aflame. That was a bonus.

He was working on writing responses when Madame Pomphrey slipped through the curtain. “Letters for your friends, Mister Potter?” the nurse asked, noticing the parchments as she set his lunch on the table by his bed. “They’ll have to wait to be checked.” He’d sent letters yesterday already. Snape had told him he’d only be able to send them out a few times a week. 

Harry shook his head. “I haven’t finished yet anyways. I don’t really know what to tell them, since I’m stuck in here and there really isn’t much going on. Snape’s still got me doing lessons.”

The nurse smiled. “It’s good to keep your mind active, particularly when you’re cooped up like this and can’t be as physically active as you’re used to. Take your time with those letters. I won’t be able to check them until tomorrow morning, at the earliest. When you’re finished with your lunch set the dishes at the table at the end of the bed. We need to check everything that leaves to be sure we don’t infect the rest of the school.”

Harry nodded, wondering if everything really needed to be checked since he was only pretending to be sick but not curious enough to ask.

The nurse left and he set the letters aside, picking up a sandwich and starting to eat. He made a face as the taste; apparently everything had a bit of a charred taste when you had fake Dragon Pox, even the sandwiches. 

* * *

Severus took the offered glass with a bit of trepidation. Why was it that every time he visited Lucius offered him alcohol? But the liquid was the correct color, had the right smell, and Severus knew he was just being paranoid.

Then again, he had reason to be paranoid. He was a spy, after all.

“You wanted a favor, Severus?” Lucius asked, pouring a glass for himself and taking a sip.

“Hopefully a small one,” Severus said, sitting on the couch and making himself comfortable. He had less to hide this visit, but more to construct. If Potter wasn’t really his heir this would all be for nothing, and then he would have to decide if he wanted to move forward anyway. “And likely more for your wife than yourself.” Lucius would consider the favor women’s work, after all, but he needed to make it known he was preparing for a child before he made the switch. He couldn’t let his son become suspect.

“Sounds intriguing.”

“I am hoping to make a living space for my son at my old home, but I haven't the time to do so while school is in session. I have some funds she can use to redecorate one of the rooms, of course-”

“Nonsense,” Lucius said, waving the concern off. Severus was sure if he hadn’t offered Lucius would have demanded the funds, but by offering it before Lucius asked Lucius would offer to pay himself. As much as Severus hated manipulating his old friend this way, but the truth was he couldn’t really afford the best. And the furniture currently in his house was old enough even the best spells wouldn’t help. “She'd be happy to clean up that old house of yours. She always hated you living in a place so dark and dreary. You're going to take him in, then?”

“I haven't decided yet,” Severus said honestly. Was Potter his heir? If he was Severus wasn’t going to let Potter continue to be Dumbledore’s pawn. If he wasn’t – didn’t he owe the same consideration to Lily’s son? “He doesn't seem to want to come, but I thought having a place available for him would be - reassuring.”

“That doesn't sound like you.”

“At Dumbledore’s suggestion, I spoke to a mind healer about the boy.” That had been a grueling conversation, and Severus allowed himself to roll his eyes at the memory. 

“Dumbledore knows?” Lucius asked sharply. 

Severus hadn't wanted Dumbledore to suspect yet, but the old coot was everywhere. “I had to submit the paperwork for a new heir with Gringotts this week. He was curious about all the Owls I was sending.” Severus had, too. Even if Harry wasn't his magical heir, Severus didn't have one for his physical possessions. Dumbledore had beamed a great smile at him, as if Severus were doing something grand, until Severus had said he wasn't naming Potter as his heir. He’d named his beneficiary to be his son. Now he just had to figure out if his son existed. 

“Nosy old man,” Lucius muttered. 

“You're just as nosy,” Severus pointed out. 

“Yes, but I'm a concerned friend. It's different.” 

“If you say so,” Severus said. He'd managed to divert Dumbledore from asking who he was naming heir, but when Severus had mentioned having trouble dealing with a young relative who was the recent victim of trauma the mind healer had been mentioned. “I couldn't afford to go to anyone other than who he suggested. You know how suspicious he gets.” 

“Did you at least find the visit enlightening?” 

“Not hardly,” Severus snorted. “According to her the boy wants to come home and just doesn't want to say it, which is just ridiculous. He could hardly consider a place a home if he's never been there, and in my experience young boys tend to know exactly what they want. Her suggestion was to make a space for him to, and I quote, ‘reassure him that he is wanted.’ As if what I feel makes a difference.” 

“You've been spending time with Draco again,” Lucius noted. 

Severus smirked a bit and nodded. “Did you know he asked for Veela feathers for Samhain? He knows what he wants, if not who.” 

Lucius nodded. “I suspected as much. I'll get them in time. The sooner he finds love the sooner there will be children in the manor again.” 

“And if falls in love with a boy, the way your uncle did?” Severus challenged, almost grateful for the excuse to turn the conversation away from him and his family. “I don't mean to pry, Lucius, but I know none of the girls at Hogwarts hold his interest. He hasn't shown inclination for males, either, but he could be hiding it if he fears your reaction.” 

“I am not my grandfather,” Lucius said slowly, seriously considering the matter. For a pureblood it was a big deal to have a son or daughter more interested in the same sex than the other. Pureblood families were raised to believe in the continuation of the bloodline, and in the inheritance of magic. Same sex couples couldn’t easily have children, effectively ending bloodlines if there were no other relatives to continue the line. “Times have changed. With the proper spells and magic, we could still have children here.” 

“It is possible,” Severus conceded. “Not easily, but it could be done.” 

“I will do what I have to for my family, you know that,” Lucius said easily. “If what he wants is another boy, I don’t see why that should be a hindrance. So long as he’s not some hoodlum.” 

“Tell him that,” Severus said. “I doubt it will make a difference at all – he’ll probably settle down with some girl just like most everyone else – but I'm beginning to get desperate for something to take his mind off of Potter and this fool idea of searching for dark items in the school.” 

“I set him on that task,” Lucius reminded him. 

“Yes, but he's just a boy, Lucius. He's not a child anymore, but he still has much to learn.” 

Lucius sighed. “I know. But with the Dark Lord near he will need to grow up sooner than I had hoped.” 

“We did, and we survived. A little rough around the edges, but we lived. Let him grow a little more before you ask too much of him.” 

“Better I ask than the Dark Lord demand,” Lucius countered. 

“He’s not demanding anything yet,” Severus said. “Not from our children, at least.” 

“He doesn’t even know yours exists.” 

Severus closed his eyes. “No one does yet, not beyond you and me. Dumbledore doesn’t even know he’s my son yet, just that I had Gringotts name him my heir and he’s a relative.” 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Clever. But doesn’t answer my question. When are you going to announce him?” 

Severus had put his glass to his lips, but hesitated at the question. Announce him? Severus hadn’t considered that. Births were often announced in the _Prophet_ for many of the prominent wizarding families. Finding an heir during these times was close enough to a ‘birth’ that well-known families would announce the find. “I hadn’t considered it,” he finally said. “I was going to tell the Headmaster in a week or two, once I determine if he’s going to stay where he is or come to Hogwarts. I’d only planned on informing the staff if I bring him here.” 

“You should consider it,” Lucius said. “You have good blood in you, Severus. Despite your father.” The reminder of Severus’ abusive father hurt, and made the dour man flinch slightly. “It's getting late. Perhaps we should discuss this more later.” 

“Yes,” Severus said, setting down his full glass. “I have to go. Just - think about talking to Draco, please?” 

“I will. And don't think I've given up on finding out more about your son. Narcissa will decorate a bedroom for him, but we will both want to know more. Can I at least tell her who it's for?” 

Severus nodded. “Yes, that's fine,” he said. “I'm sorry to make you wait so long to tell her.” 

Lucius grinned. “Just expect to get a howler from her demanding to know why you didn't tell her yourself. What name do I tell her?” 

“I never said?” Severus asked. “I must be getting forgetful. His name is Corvus.” 

* * *

Harry stared at the meditation book and tried not to groan. Between the “dragon pox” and the lessons on shielding his mind he felt _awful_ , but he'd already guessed Snape wasn't being vindictive. Not without cause, at least. When Umbridge had stormed in to try and drag him to class the second day of his confinement he’d spewed flames all over the stone floor and the arm she’d gripped had grown scales. 

He was still shedding them, but she hadn't come back since. He wasn't sure how long they could keep pretending he was sick - it had been almost a week already! - but he hoped it lasted a little longer. The cuts on his hand had already turned to scabs and started itching, and Madame Pomphrey had said the scarring would be minimal, if at all. Between his clumsy bandages and his natural ability to heal, the evidence of his torture would be reduced to a few marks where the quill had dug in the worst. 

The one on his face was bad enough. He didn't need more. 

“Ah, Harry,” Madame Pomphrey greeted. “You're looking rather green today.” 

She meant it literally. His skin was turning green in patches. “Is that normal?” 

“It'll fade in about another week,” she answered cheerfully. “If we drag it out much longer than that, people will get suspicious.” 

“Won't they be suspicious anyways?” Harry asked, curious. 

“Maybe a bit; Headmaster Dumbledore has already had a few inquiries. But you are sick with a wizarding disease and everyone knows your relatives are muggles. It won't seem odd for you to stay. This isn't the first time Hogwarts has had this kind of circumstance.” 

“Oh.” Hermione was sending him notes from all of their classes, worried about his OWLs, but Harry hadn't looked at them yet. He kept trying to learn from Snape's book, but it just didn't make much sense. 

“Learning meditation?” the nurse asked. 

Harry startled - no one was supposed to know he was learning to occlude - but then nodded. If the nurse couldn't know this much Snape wouldn't have given him the book, right? 

“I've heard it helps with divination and sometimes used in foreign magic studies, but it's usually more of a muggle study here. Muggles don't have calming potions or pensieves to help them reflect on memories so they use meditation instead.” 

“I didn't know muggles used it,” he said, wondering what else it was used for and why they didn't learn it if it was useful for divinations. It had to be better than reading tea leaves, at least. “Are there other books about it in the library?” 

“Yes, but you are not to leave that bed, remember?” 

Harry slumped. He'd forgotten, and now he felt trapped and resentful of the ruse. 

“I can have a few books checked out for you,” the nurse said. “ _Light_ reading, since you're ill.” 

Harry nodded, and looked up to see his friends waving at him from the doorway. He waved back, grinning a bit, and then sneezed out a flame. “This sucks.” 

The nurse frowned. “Normally I'd expect better language from you, but given the situation… I have to agree.” 

And then she had to rush off to tend to a hufflepuff who had gotten a bit too close to one of the snakes that hid in Hagrid’s currently untended garden. 

* * *

“I see you’ve decided to branch out your reading materials,” Snape commented as he entered the curtained-off area where Harry was studying. “I doubt muggle comic books have adequate instructions for occulmency, however.” 

Harry shrugged. “Madame Pomphrey mentioned that some foreign countries use meditation in magic. She didn’t have any books on it to show me, though. She got me some new textbooks on it, but they say the same thing yours did.” He scrunched up his nose at the dry texts. 

“And where do the muggle comics feature?” 

“Oh. Ron got them out of the lost and found for me. They’ve been there for years, according to the notices. He thought it might keep me from being bored. I’ll put them back when I’m not stuck in here anymore,” he said, pouting a bit. “I wasn’t going to keep them.” 

Snape glanced at the cover of the novel, and decided to put a few more interesting books with the materials Narcissa was gathering. He couldn’t coach Potter on different ways to think about magic - but fiction was a good place to encourage it if the boy liked reading it. Besides, a teenage boy’s room would feel faked without a few fiction books and posters. Games, as well. He would have to get ideas from Draco’s rooms. But he couldn’t think about that now; he couldn’t think about any of it. “I guess you had to start somewhere. Children are often fond of picture books. Maybe we should turn your potions text into a coloring book.” 

“Hey!” Harry protested, and then coughed up a mouthful of smoke. “Just get on with it,” he muttered when the fit had stopped. He was too tired to fight with Snape too much and his chest always hurt after a coughing fit. In short: he was miserable. 


	7. Chapter 7

“The boy is impossible to teach,” Severus said tightly, gazing out the window of the Headmaster’s office with his hands stiff at his sides. The day was sunny just to spite him, he was certain. “He is more concerned with his letters to his friends and his weekly pantomime visits than learning. More than that, he has no talent for the art.”

“Each person’s mind is unique, Severus, you know this,” Albus countered gently as he moved around his desk and set a new silver trinket on one of the shelves. “It can take time to build the shields necessary to block an intrusion which is obvious. Some students take months to learn even the most basic shields. And he is still a child, learning the difference between his own emotions and those fueled by Voldemort’s link. There is no way for us to guess how difficult this is for him.”

“No matter the difficulties, he doesn’t have months,” the Potions Master argued. “If the Dark Lord were to discover what I am doing, he will not show mercy. My days as a spy will be over and quite possibly my life will be forfeit. I cannot risk being gentle in his training.”

The Headmaster popped a lemon drop into his mouth before sitting down and leaning back in his chair, sucking gently on the sweet. “I don’t know what it is you wish of me, my boy.”

“He should be getting additional instruction from you,” Severus said, turning and facing Albus. “We even have a ready-made explanation due the personal situation I have encountered.”

“Ah yes,” Albus replied, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Your mysterious relative. He must be someone close for you to be so interested, yet I know Eileen Prince didn’t have any other children and she was an only child herself. Your mother did have aunts and uncles, however, who had children. Yet they are closer to each other than they are to you.”

“My personal affairs are private,” Severus said as some of the portraits perked up with obvious interest. “I assure you, I have not broken the statute of secrecy by naming a muggle as my heir. The relative is magical.”

“Your muggle father was not the best man, I know, but I would not accuse you of going so far,” Albus said. “It is simply an old man’s curiosity. I taught your mother, you know. Not very skilled in transfiguration, but she could throw a mean hex.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me to deviate from the topic, Albus. The boy must be taught and he shows no aptitude for learning from me.”

Albus sighed. “He distrusts you, which is very detrimental when working with the mind arts. I had hoped he could build a natural shield.” Natural shields were permitted by the ministry, though they were very hard to form and were typically the result of trauma. The spell to shield a mind was still technically legal, but those who learned it had to be registered at the ministry. To them it was an advanced level of magic which needed to be permitted, like apparition or animagus transformation. They wouldn’t stop you from learning it, but they had to know if you did. Failing to register was punished with three months in Azkaban.

Severus had never learned the spell. He hadn’t needed to. The first time he’d felt someone digging in his mind for information he didn’t want to give, he’d retreated so far back into himself the shield had formed all on its own.

“If we ask for help from someone else, the Dark Lord will know of it,” Severus said, keeping his voice low and calm. It wouldn’t do to get angry with the Headmaster. Albus only got more stubborn when Severus reacted in anger. “The ministry’s list of known occlumens may as well be a list of targets. He will know if we reach out to them.”

“I am aware,” Albus sighed.

“If there were a way to sever the link – to destroy the connection somehow – “ Severus tried.

“There isn’t. I will tell you something I have told no one else, not even Harry. Something I have only recently discovered.”

Severus nodded, the fading light at his back letting him know it was nearing supper. The portraits shifted a bit, uncomfortable, and Severus glanced at them briefly. It was unusual for them to retreat back into the recesses of their portraits when a Headmaster was telling secrets. It was rare for the Headmaster’s office to be a place to discuss such things.

“They know, Severus. I had to discuss this heavily with them before I found the answer. Over 50 years ago, I brought a student to this school. A student by the name of Tom Riddle. He was a half-blood, the child of a witch and a muggle father, but his mother had died in childbirth and his father didn’t want anything to do with the mother. So he was raised in a muggle orphanage. He learned of magic here at Hogwarts, and spent seven years here pretending to be a model student.” One of the portraits scoffed, looking annoyed.

“Pretending?” Severus asked.

“Yes, he was very good at charming his way into the hearts of students and teachers alike. I myself wasn’t completely immune to this. But Tom Riddle had a darkness in him, a darkness not many of us saw. We thought it small and insignificant, as it is well known we were at war with Grindelwald at the time and darkness was not hard to find. But this child would grow into something worse. He would grow into Lord Voldemort.”

Severus mentally shook himself, careful not to show any outside reaction. He had known the Dark Lord had to have once been a child, and known he had to, at some point, learned how to use magic. Severus had never known his name, however, or known where (or when) he had learned.

“While he was here he used his ability to fool others to gain unrestricted access to the restricted section, and there he learned of a terrible magic. There he learned a way to make himself very difficult to kill. But he didn’t know – or didn’t care – about the dangers. How it would drive him to the brink of insanity.”

“And this has something to do with the boy?” Severus asked.

Albus nodded. “Voldemort created something like a tether to the living world. Should his body be killed, this tether would pull his spirit back. He may have been able to create one without doing noticeable damage, but he created more. I don’t know how many, but he wouldn’t feel secure without more than one. And when he went after Harry fifteen years ago I believe he was prepared to make another.”

It sounded complicated. Severus had never heard of tethers to the world which could prevent death; that touched on the forbidden art of necromancy. There were no such books in the library, even in the restricted section. The ancient books of the forbidden arts were kept under the ministry’s watch in the Department of Mysteries. A student had found such information at Hogwarts? Impossible.

“Where the killing curse failed, the magic to create the tether did not. Voldemort succeeded that night in creating one last tether. A bond to this world. In order to destroy Voldemort so that he will never return, all his tethers to this world must first be destroyed.”

“So the boy must die?” Severus asked. He didn’t know why that felt like a stab into his heart.

“Yes, Severus. The boy must die.”

“And this is the cause of his link to the Dark Lord? This mind connection – it is a result of the tether?”

Albus nodded slowly. “They were never meant to be living beings,” he said. “It is, after all, very dark magic designed for immortality. If the tether is something which lives – well, living things die.”

“There is no way to move the tether from the boy to another object?”

Albus’ head shot up. “What?”

“If this magic is the reason the Dark Lord can see into the boy’s mind, then why not remove the cause rather than the symptom?” Severus demanded. “The boy couldn’t shield his mind from a wisp, much less the Dark Lord! The simplest solution would be to remove the need for the shield. In this case, that would mean the tether. If we cannot destroy it without killing the boy, why not transfer it to something we can destroy?”

“No such magic exists, I’m afraid,” Albus said, but he looked thoughtful. Severus’ own mind was spinning on how this would affect his plans. Surely the Dark Lord could not know such a thing already. If he knew he would be striving to protect the child, not kill him. But it would be impractical to hide such a connection for a long period of time. How had the boy gone for so long without showing signs? Why was he just now finding out about this? Had there been symptoms before that the boy hadn’t recognized? “I will look into the matter. Perhaps there is another way,” Albus conceded. “We must not _expect_ this solution to work, though. You must continue to teach him.”

“He cannot learn from me. He resists me at every turn. If you could-“

“No,” Albus said as Severus once more tried to push the work off on the other man. Severus hadn’t really expected it to work, but he had needed to try. “I’m afraid I cannot budge on that decision, Severus. If I were to teach him then Voldemort would notice. He can stir up emotions in Harry without Harry realizing they are not his own. It is for the best that you teach him. And you alone.”

“Fine,” Severus grumbled, and his discomfort was entirely real, “but don’t complain to me when he comes out of this traumatized and brain damaged.”

* * *

“Lucius,” the Dark Lord softly called. He sat in a wingback chair next to the fireplace, dressed in formal robes with his hands steepled before his face and his legs crossed. If not for the way he looked – dark magic had an effect on the body which was difficult to undo without strong light magic – Lucius could have mistaken him for a well-off politician planning his run for minister of magic.

“My Lord,” Lucius said, entering the room completely and kneeling before the older man. “You have need of me?”

“Severus has been by several times lately, yet he has not come to see me,” the Dark Lord said. “I realize our visits have not always coincided – did you not inform him of when I would be available?”

Lucius bowed his head. He had suspected the Dark Lord would notice the other man’s frequent visits, and wondered briefly why Severus had not realized he would be questioned. “It is a personal matter, my Lord,” Lucius said. “Severus has asked me to keep the matter private, but recently said I might tell my wife. I am sure he means no offense, my Lord. If you wish to know-“

“Severus will tell me,” the Dark Lord said. “Send him a letter asking for his presence at the earliest opportunity, if you do not believe the matter urgent. I have other tasks for you.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Lucius said, bowing again. “What would you have me do?”

“Albus has been making strange moves lately. Severus has provided reports that he is researching something, but that he could not state what the research concerned on paper. I want to know if he has been making any moves in the ministry, or through anyone known to be connected to him. Severus will provide more details when he can.”

“If I may, my Lord, Severus may be distracted recently due to this family matter,” Lucius said. Narcissa was out buying furniture for the drab room now, and had enlisted the help of several houselves to dust and clean the entire house. When she was done Spinner’s End would look better than it had in years. Lucius hoped it wouldn’t add to Severus’ distraction. “While he has assured me he will not allow it to interfere with his work, he _did_ suggest I work at the school again. He claimed to be lonely, but I fear – once you know the news, my Lord, it will make more sense, but I think he is struggling with making a decision and may need a stronger push than I can provide to make the correct one.”

The Dark Lord looked at the bowed head, his curiosity peaked, and Lucius wondered for a brief moment if Voldemort would demand to know the secret immediately.

“Do not bother sending the letter, Lucius,” Voldemort finally said. “Give me your arm.”

* * *

Severus rushed into Lucius’ home, ignoring the houself and bypassing the path he would normally take to Lucius’ office. Instead he headed towards the drawing room where the Dark Lord waited, his arm still tingling with the pins and needles sensation of a gentle summons. At least his arm wasn’t on fire, which would have meant Voldemort was angry.

“You summoned me, my Lord?” Severus asked as he entered the room, kneeling down and bowing his head.

“Severus,” the Dark Lord hissed. He leaned forward, uncrossing his legs, and reached a hand down to the floor. Nagini, the Dark Lord’s snake familiar, climbed up the arm to settle around Voldemort’s shoulders as the Dark Lord leaned back and crossed his legs again. “Come, sit,” Voldemort motioned to the chair across from him. It was a smaller chair, but comfortable, and gave Severus hope that he might escape this without suffering another _crucio_.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Severus said, sitting in the offered chair. “Would you like me to report?”

“Yes.”

“Albus Dumbledore has been researching a type of magic he will not reveal to me. I know it has something to do with the Potter boy’s connection to you, and is relevant to mind magic,” Severus said stiffly. “He has asked me about any skills I have in mind magic, which I have told him is limited to meditation. The Potter boy himself is still sick. I have been partially tasked with his care due to my skills in potions and my training in the lessor healing arts. I have kept him tasked with his potions assignments – theory only, as the nurse would not allow him to brew in the infirmary – yet he seems too tired to complete even those tasks. The nurse does not seem concerned with this.”

The Dark Lord seemed to frown. “He should not be so ill at this stage of the disease, should he?”

“Each strain can be slightly different,” Severus said honestly. “I would have expected him to be healthier after several weeks in isolation, but my training did not extend to such illnesses beyond immediate care. I would have been tasked to take him to Saint Mungo’s if a more experienced healer was not available.”

“Dumbledore seems to care very little for the health of his savior. This is… disturbing news,” the Dark Lord admitted. “I wonder if you haven’t missed something, Severus.”

“My Lord?” It was never good when the Dark Lord started questioning how good you were at fulfilling his orders.

“You’ve made several visits to Lucius in the past few weeks, but I have received only letters,” the Dark Lord said as Nagini looked for attention by circling his neck and hissing at the air. “What’s more, Lucius tells me you were feeling lonely and looking for his company at the school. Are you looking for assistance in your tasks, Severus?”

“No, my Lord,” Severus said, bowing his head. “I would never fail you. It is a personal matter.”

“A personal matter?”

“My son’s caretakers have recently passed on. I had not thought of him in years, and I have been seeing to matters which concern him.”

The Dark Lord’s stance was suddenly very interested, leaning forward and keeping his eyes focused on Severus. “I did not know you had a son. Tell me more.”

“There is little to tell, my Lord. He has not entered my thoughts in years. I have been concerned over his well-being recently, of course, and have been struggling with the decision to bring him to Hogwarts or leave him at his current school. He has survived this long. Another few weeks in their care as I reach a decision shouldn’t hurt him.”

“You should bring him closer,” Voldemort said decisively. “Ensure he receives a proper education. How old is he?”

“Fourteen, my Lord. His birthday is August 31st, just barely making the cutoff for a fourth year student,” Severus said. “Bringing him closer is… complicated. He is a child in another country, recently suffering from trauma. Just the ability to travel there to retrieve him requires ministry approval – and money.”

“You will find a way, I’m sure,” the Dark Lord said, waving off the concern. “I hope having him close will ease your discomfort.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Keep an eye on Dumbledore, try and figure out what he is researching specifically, and keep your reports regular. Let me know if Potter’s condition changes. If you encounter any problems retrieving your son, let me know. Retrieving a young boy without proper caretakers should be easy enough for your fellow Death Eaters.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Severus said, bowing. “I will attempt the legal way first, so as not to arouse Dumbledore’s suspicion. I have not yet informed him the boy is my son, but he is curious. I would rather he not have any more leverage over me than he already does. They are not like you, my Lord. Their favors come at a high price.”

“You may leave, Severus. Send Lucius in on your way out.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

The knock at the door wasn't entirely unexpected. Severus had known Lucius wouldn't be able to keep from digging deeper into the blood quill question, not when his son might be at risk, and he'd seen the aurors at the castle entrance. Umbridge had likely been escorted off the premises in a quiet and dignified manner while her replacement took over her duties. 

It was more surprising that Lucius had asked Draco to look for dangerous objects to begin with. Lucius was usually highly protective of his son.

As expected, Lucius was at the door. "To what do I owe this pleasure," Severus asked as he motioned Lucius into his rooms. "It's not often that you come to visit me."

"We found the source of your blood quill problem, and a few others as well. Tell me, Severus, when did it become acceptable to use veritiserum on students?"

"Never," Severus answered. "It is forbidden by both school statute and ministry law."

"Then we have a problem," Lucius answered, seating himself in a chair by the fire while a house elf popped in a tray of tea. " _ Former _ high inquisitor Umbridge claims you used a good deal of the potion on your students, and an investigation shows your store is only half what it was reported to be at the beginning of the semester."

Severus smirked. "For once the headmaster's curse will work in my favor. I am unable to bring harm to the students, and ingesting such a potion at a young age has been proven to lead to physical harm of their bodies. It was Umbridge herself who asked for use of my stores. To what end, I am uncertain, but I think you will find she made it a rule that the stores of any professor, private or school property, were to be made available to her immediately upon her request. And  _ that _ I will testify to under veritiserum myself."

Lucius shook his head, but Severus noticed his cane was kept in reach. Lucius liked to keep his wand in the cane. He felt it looked more sophisticated. "I can't believe Fudge allowed her in the school. She has the right ideals, but the woman can't stand children, and she has very little patience with them."

Severus finally sat down as Lucius helped himself to the tea. Lucius must have asked for it to be brought, since Severus never had food brought to his rooms. He didn't trust house elves as much since Potter's second year, when he had seen one turn against Lucius. 

"What's this?" Lucius asked, gesturing to a piece of parchment on the table. 

"A letter to my son," Severus said with a sigh. "It takes some time for owls to travel that far, so I've tried to be patient waiting for him to respond. Though I don’t know why I try. He doesn’t answer."

"May I?"

Severus waved his permission - the letter had been left out for him to see, after all - and leaned back in his chair. "So who was it?"

"Hmm?" Lucius asked, his attention torn from the unfinished letter at Severus' question.

"You said you'd found the source of the blood quill problem, but never said who it was. You mentioned professor Umbridge being removed from High Inquisitor rank, but I can’t imagine her torturing students. It reeks of foul intentions, but I can't say I know of anyone who would go so far."

"It  _ was  _ professor Umbridge," Lucius said, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I suspect she was trying to deflect some of the error on to you, but I would not believe her after the lies she spouted on her own use of illegal artifacts. There will be an investigation, of course, but no harm should come of it."

"More delays, perhaps," Severus sighed. "If I am being investigated due to her claims then getting a permit to travel outside the country will be impossible." Which was a perfect excuse for him to wait just a little longer. He had already put in the paperwork and had been hoping the ministry would take it’s normal slow progress.

"It shouldn't take too long," Lucius said. "What does he look like?"

Severus let out a small laugh. "You're just doing reconnaissance for your wife, aren't you?" he asked. "Is Narcissa that interested in meeting him?"

"Of course. She expects to be named godmother, too, if he does not have one already."

"He's a bit old for a godmother. I would have, if he were still a babe, but he is older now."

"You don't have any recent photos?"

Severus frowned, shaking his head. "I haven't seen him in years, remember. I can ask the matron if his school for one. They should have a school photo of him, at least. I - I can't believe I didn't ask." It was harder to believe Lucius was asking, but that was a different matter. 

* * *

_ I’m so bored _ . Harry held up the paper so Hermione could see it through the wards keeping him in isolation.

_ Have you finished your essay for Transfiguration yet? _ she wrote back.  _ Also, I know you don’t take runes, but I took notes for you anyways. _

Harry flipped his pad of parchment back around, picked up the quill, and wrote:  _ Do we always have to talk about school? _ He turned it back around and showed her the parchment, turning his head to the side as he snorted out a ball of smoke.

_ I’m sorry _ , she wrote back, and she really did look sorry.  _ Ron’s mad you missed the game. He’s not mad at you, though. Ginny didn’t get to the snitch in time. _

Harry dropped his parchment and sighed. No wonder Ron hadn’t shown up for their allotted one hour of “let’s talk without speaking!” He got one hour a week with his friends, scribbling notes on parchment and trying to mime. He’d gotten out of bed and made his way to the very edge of the quarantine ward, collapsing on the floor with a stack of parchment and a stiff book to hold the paper steady.

He saw Hermione waving and looked at her parchment.  _ We miss you. _

Harry laughed. _ I miss you too, _ he wrote back.  _ Even class would be better.  _ Sitting around all day wasn’t as fun as it sounded. He spent all day alone. While the nurse was there, she had patients to care for. Sometimes she would leave for a few hours to do ‘rounds’ and check on students not staying in the hospital wing, always when Snape was around to give him lessons.

The letters weren’t enough. He wanted to talk to someone, to  _ move _ without hurting, to talk about magic and quidditch and who was dating who without having to write everything down.

_ How’s the hand? _

Harry shrugged. The words were faint now, after two weeks, slowing turning into pockmarks on his skin. In another week Madame Pomphrey believed he’d have to search for the marks in order to see them, and even then he’d only see a few dots.  _ Healing _ , he settled on.  _ Have you talked to Luna lately? What about the club? _

Hermione smiled and began writing furiously. Harry tried to angle himself to read as she wrote.  _ We found a way to talk to each other without alerting the teachers, but it doesn’t matter now - Umbridge was removed from the school this morning! She’s in auror custody, and they had the blood quill. You won’t believe what the twins did to celebrate. _

Harry smiled. Maybe he could get out of here soon. With Umbridge gone, there was little reason for him to hide.

* * *

“What do you mean, I’m not allowed to leave?” Harry demanded, pacing furiously. In his anger, he barely felt the effects of the potion which mimicked Dragon Pox. He almost wished the flames from his mouth would burn something important. 

Hermione had left not an hour before, and Harry had felt strangely energized ever since she had told him Umbridge was gone. Hope had immediately fluttered in his chest that he could leave quarantine and his life could return to normal. Well, as normal as his life ever was. When Snape had come to the hospital wing and ordered Hermione away, Harry had thought Snape was bringing him a “cure” and Harry would be out by morning.

But when he had asked, Snape had refused.

“Are you yet so skilled and experienced that you can not only identify every potential threat which could possibly exist within school grounds, but are equipped and prepared to neutralize those threats when they present themselves to you?” Snape asked.

“Dumbledore thinks I’m safe enough.”

“ _ Headmaster _ Dumbledore is traveling. He is not available to consult. And despite having the majority of your day free to study those subjects most prudent to your future endeavors, you have made little significant progress. I can only imagine how deplorable your progress would be if you faced the distraction of your classmates.”

Harry crossed his arms and turned his back to Snape, not wanting to show his anger. “I want to see Dumbledore.” He would have never been so bold before he found out he was potentially Snape’s heir. He didn’t think he would have, at least.

“That is not possible at the moment. Like everyone else, you will have to abide by the instructions of the available professors.”

“But you’re the only one allowed to see me!” Harry shouted, turning and flinging his arm out in an accusatory swipe. His feet seemed to slide out from under him and it was only a sudden vice-like grip on his arm which kept Harry from falling on his arse. When he looked up at Snape, glaring at the older man, the professor appeared concerned.

“Get to bed,” Snape said.

“What?”   


“Get to bed. You’re in no condition to study tonight.”

“Two minutes ago you said I wasn’t studying enough,” Harry muttered.

“That was before I realized you couldn’t see straight,” Snape answered crisply, pulling Harry towards the bed. “Now get into the bed, Potter, and get some rest. Do not take any more doses of the potion until I get you a fresh supply.”

“Why can’t I just get better and go back to my dorm?”

“Have you forgotten I am still brewing a potion for you?” Snape asked coldly. “What would your classmates think if they saw me administering a potion test to a perfectly healthy boy?”

“You wanted to chop me up and use me for parts?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d hardly need to chop you up to harvest parts, and destroying the source of the goods would put such potions in limited supply.”

Harry startled for a moment, staring at his professor, then decided maybe his ears were playing tricks on him. Either that or his professor was seriously considering using students for potion ingredients. And since Dumbledore wouldn’t allow Snape to “harvest parts” from students, hearing things was more likely and  _ clearly _ meant he needed to sleep.

And Snape tucking him into the hospital bed was another - just as creepy, just as strange - part of the dream. Though how Harry had imagined that when he’d never been tucked into bed before was anyone’s guess.

* * *

“Poppy?” Severus called, knocking lightly on the door to the nurse’s office so he wouldn’t startle her.

“Severus! Come in,” the nurse greeted, motioning Severus to the extra chair opposite her desk. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to inform you I’ve stopped Potter’s doses of the trick dragon potion,” Severus said, still standing and not making a move to enter the office. “He had a moment of vertigo just now, and felt suspiciously warm. I suspect he’s picked up a cold or a flu from one of the other students passing through.”

“Oh dear,” Poppy said, shaking her head and standing. “I’ll check him over to make certain he’s okay. You didn’t push him too hard tonight, did you?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “As if I could. The boy could hardly stand. I put him to bed. I’ll bring a modified version of the potion tomorrow. A costume potion should do.”

“I thought you disapproved of costume potions?” Poppy teased.

Severus scowled. “They can hardly be considered good uses of magic, and similar effects can be obtained with very little magical skill. The inventors could better spend their time inventing healing potions or true transformation potions, not muddling around with illusions.”

Poppy laughed lightly and moved towards the door, wand in hand. Severus backed up to give her room, keeping his head high to see over the curtains of the beds and make sure there were no eavesdropping students. “I’ll check on Mister Potter, then, Severus,” she said. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Severus nodded, then left. He had work to do.

* * *

Severus carefully stirred the potion four times clockwise and watched it change from a murky grey to a cloudy white. It didn’t steam, but bubbled from self-generated heat. He was brewing in the safety of his own kitchen. His rooms were locked and warded, his floo closed. He set the potion in a cabinet, closed and sealed it, and then set about preparing ingredients. In order for him to brew without arousing suspicion he had to keep the supplies well-stocked. He couldn’t buy the ingredients without someone wondering what he was using them for. That left him gathering and preparing them himself.

Which gave him plenty of time to think. Normally he spent this time researching and keeping up with current strides in potion theory so it wasn’t unusual for him to be locked up in his rooms alone.

And he had only one thing he needed such privacy to think about.

After two and a half weeks Severus had finally begun to notice the first formations of a shield in the boy’s mind. Already he knew Potter would never be skilled at the art; he didn’t think in quite the right manner. The most skilled occlumens Severus knew practically had multiple personalities. They could hide and show memories without showing any effort.

They were also locked up in Saint Mungo’s Insanity Ward under heavy confinement spells and all their assets had been frozen due to their suspected connection to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord hadn’t broken them out partly because he didn’t want the truly insane (Bellatrix was an unfortunate exception) and partly because he felt they should be capable of such a task themselves.

Still, even without that level of talent - natural or otherwise - a shield sufficient enough to keep the connection muted should be possible. Despite what Albus said, Potter should at least be able to mute the connection back to where it had been during his first year, possibly even back to where it was when he was living as a muggle. Given Albus’ research into moving the tether, he could make the situation work in his favor. He could pose the theory that Albus had moved the tether from Potter to his son. Albus was powerful enough – and secretive enough – he might actually succeed in moving it. If he did, all the better – the tether could be destroyed. If not, at least Voldemort wouldn’t kill his son on sight. He might even protect the boy.

If Potter could hide memories to Snape’s satisfaction, Snape would consider their options from there. If he couldn’t hide memories it was a moot point. He had to be able to hide Harry Potter under Corvus Snape, at least enough to fool a cursory check for the first few weeks.

Unless Severus decided to obliviate the boy. It could be done, but it could also be  _ undone _ , and that was probably the most dangerous possibility. Unless he went so far as to damage the boy’s mind then there was always a risk something would surface.

He could slowly remove one memory at a time. Memories naturally faded with time, it wouldn’t be unusual for the boy not to remember his childhood. If Severus was careful, Corvus might even one day forget he had ever been Harry Potter.

Severus carefully put the ingredients away, cleaning his tools. He didn’t dare write any of his plans down, or even think of them too deeply in the presence of others. There was too much risk. He had time to think of contingencies and alternatives while he was in private. Wiping memories was only one alternative and really only an option if occlumency failed. It had more risks. It could be  _ undone _ .

And all these plans could be for nothing if Potter wasn’t his heir. So much depended on the results of the potion, and after so much time it was almost complete. Soon he would know if Potter truly was his or simply acting a desperate child. Or both. At least that potion he only had to hide in his private lab; the potion he was brewing in his kitchen was a potion which would strengthen the traits of a blood donor. Since Harry Potter had none of his blood, even if he was Severus’ heir, there was no spell or glamor to counteract, and no potion to undo. Because nothing was actually wrong, there was nothing to fix.

After a few days of brooding over the possibility of Potter being his heir (or not), two letters from Lucius asking about the son he hadn’t technically had, and a nagging feeling that if he didn’t start the act soon it would fail, Severus had begun brewing the potion. Prepping for his son. Now he was fully engrossed in the plan and if he backed out now he would have to kill his non-existent son to explain the situation. The Dark Lord would be suspicious if that happened, but it couldn’t be helped.

The potion he’d dug out of the dusty corners of his mastery textbooks was ancient, developed and used back before ministry regulations and potion standardization. The potion essentially enhanced all the physical traits shared between a blood donor and the person who ingested it. If there were enough shared traits - and, as much as he hated it, Severus did share many physical traits with James Potter - then it could even fool paternity spells and potions. It had been replaced with other potions over the years, potions which would allow children to be adopted without changing the child’s blood. Severus chose the older potion for one reason, and one reason alone.

Unlike the modern potions, the oldest one was undetectable.

It was also illegal, but that was of little concern to him. He’d performed enough illegal acts over the years that one more wasn’t going to make a difference. If he didn’t get thrown into Azkaban for kidnapping, murder, or serving a Dark Lord, using an old potion to adopt his own heir wasn’t going to cause a stir.

He just had to figure out how to get Harry to drink it.

And a potion to correct his vision. It would be suspicious if Corvus and Harry Potter both wore glasses – a rarity in magical children – and even had the same prescription lenses. Between that and the similarities in their appearance, the wrong people might start asking questions.

He couldn’t make a move until the boy could shield his mind  _ properly _ , but there was progress in that. Severus could admit it was difficult to learn. It wasn’t like spells or charms, which could be taught from books. There were no words for the magic to shield the mind; it had to be taught by example, and had to be learned by experience. Like feeling the beat in music, only time and practice would get them there.


	9. Chapter 9

“Do you think he’s okay?” Harry heard Hermione ask. It was an immense relief to hear her voice. Although Madame Pomfrey had said she had taken the air ward down, Harry hadn't had a chance to actually speak to his friends in two weeks, ward or not.  “Maybe we should visit him while we’re here.”

“He’s probably sleeping,”  Ron muttered.  “And we can’t really visit him anyways, remember? They’ve got those wards up so we can’t hear each other. Besides, we’re supposed to be visiting George, not Harry.”

“George is sick?”  Harry asked, sitting up. "You're sure it's not Fred sampling supplies?"

“Harry!” Hermione squealed. She started to move quickly towards him, but bumped up against the quarantine ward before he could warn her it was still there. 

“Sorry,”  Harry said sheepishly as he got out of bed and moved closer to his friends.  “I’m getting better so they lightened up on the wards and stuff, but I still can’t have anyone come in. Is George really sick?”

“Hurt - hit by a bludger during practice,”  Ron said, but he was grinning as he said it.  “Looks like you lost the scales! Does that mean you’ll be out soon?”

“Hopefully by the end of the week,”  Harry answered.  “I don’t know why they won’t let me out sooner, or at least take down the ward. Madame Pomfrey says I probably can't contaminate anyone, and unless I have a relapse I should be fine.” He pulled a chair over by the ward and sat in it. Professor Snape hadn’t given him any more potion to drink since the warning the day before, so he felt tremendously better. He still had a bit of a cough (which let out a black smoke that made him sneeze), but the worst of the aches had passed. He hoped that was because the potion was almost ready and he would be leaving soon.

“That’s great, Harry!” Hermione said, grinning widely.  “I didn’t get to fill you in on everything that’s been happening! Aurors came and took Professor Umbridge away - apparently that blood quill she’s been using on you is illegal. I knew something was strange when I couldn't find a single reference to one in the library.”

“I bet half the students didn’t know what it was, she had to be really careful who she used it on,” Ron cut in.  “Otherwise she’d get booted. Guess she picked on the wrong student at some point, or someone wrote to their family.”

“It had to be a parent. Whoever it was must have strong ties to the ministry,” Hermione said.  “I mean, Umbridge was sent here to watch us, and she was sent from the ministry. They wouldn’t just pull her out unless they felt they didn’t have a choice.”

Harry didn’t mention Snape. He didn’t tell them their potions professor had been angry at seeing the injury and had slyly notified Lucius Malfoy. He still wasn’t quite sure he believed it himself.  “Unless they’re going to replace her with someone worse,” Harry said, chewing the thought over in his mind.  “Then they wouldn’t mind calling her out on all the shit she’s pulled.”

“Harry!” Hermione scolded.

“What? We’re 15, Hermione, and what she did was really shitty and mean. Any word on who the new defense professor is going to be?” The position had to be cursed, Harry thought. It had been fine before Harry started school, so maybe Quirrell had cursed it.

Hermione shook her head in response to Harry’s question.  “Right now Professor Snape is covering fifth year classes. A different professor is taking each year. I heard the first years say Professor Sprout was conducting their lessons, and I saw professor Sinestra head that was after ancient runes.”

“What about Headmaster Dumbledore?”  Harry asked.  “He didn't take any classes? Is he still travelling?”

Ron shrugged.  “I guess that’s what he’s doing,”  he said.  “No one’s seen him since Trelawny almost got kicked out of the castle, and there haven't been any announcements.”

Harry slumped.  “What about at Halloween?”  Something usually happened at Halloween, and though this year had seemed quiet to Harry - who had been stuck in the infirmary - it was unlike the Headmaster to miss the Halloween feast.

Hermione looked at Ron briefly, her face scrunching up in thought.  “Was he there?”  she asked. “I don’t remember seeing him.”

“No. You had that book on magical ailments. You should have seen her, Harry. When she found out you were sick she started looking up all sorts of things like she could cure you or something,”  Ron said, rolling his eyes.  “You’d think she’d never heard of a mediwitch before!”

“Well it’s extremely rare to get Dragon Pox and I didn’t know what to expect!”  Hermione complained, and Harry could see she was pouting a bit.  “Did you know we’re supposed to take potions to vaccinate us against wizarding diseases?”  she asked Harry.  “I wrote to my parents right away - they set me up an appointment at Saint Mungo’s for the winter holiday. You should check to see if you can go over break as well, or get the Dursleys to take you."

Harry kept his face straight at the mention of his relatives, and - as always - Hermione plowed on.  "That means I won’t be able to stay here for Christmas, Harry. I’m sorry.”

She actually did look disappointed, but Harry shook his head.  “It’s okay. It’ll probably be boring here anyways. It’s not like we’re trying to figure out a three-headed dog and Nicolas Flamel this year,”  he grinned. It was slight, but Hermione grinned back too. Ron was rocking back and forth on his heels, looking a bit out of sorts, but Harry tried to ignore it. Maybe he was remembering Quirrell, too.  “I finally figured out that mediation thing last night, I think,”  Harry said. “That book you got me - the muggle one? - it really helped. All the magical books say to empty your mind, but that one’s more about focusing. Maybe tonight Snape won’t yell at me for slacking.”

“That’s great, Harry!”  Hermione smiled, looking excited.  “Meditation is also one of the steps for animagus training. Maybe next year we could-”

“I can’t stay for Christmas either,”  Ron interrupted her, unable to contain the news any longer.

“What?”  Harry asked; he didn’t have to hide his surprise. These were his friends, and Ron  _ always _ stayed with him for Christmas break. Ron knew Harry wouldn’t - couldn’t - go home. 

“Christmas. I can’t stay here for the holidays,”  Ron said.  “Mom said we need to be together as a family, what with all that’s going on. She even bullied Bill and Charlie into coming, and she’ll probably get Percy to come home too, not that anyone wants to see him.”  He looked miserable.  “I asked her if you could come too, and she said only if Dumbledore said it’s okay - but she said he’d probably say no. Didn’t say why, though.”

“Oh,”  Harry said. He was surprised enough it was hard to process the news. Hermione he could understand; she didn’t stay at the castle every holiday anyways and she had a doctor’s appointment she had to keep. She couldn’t very well go there and stay at the castle. But Ron had stayed every year, and even if they were awkward around each other they’d made a tradition of being together Christmas morning. If he thought about it, though, it made sense. Ron had a family, and Harry - well, he didn’t.  “I- I guess I’ll ask Dumbledore, then,”  Harry said.  “If I ever get to see him.” It was a slim hope.

“I’m really sorry,”  Ron said.  “I meant to tell you sooner, but you were here and I kept trying to get mum to let me stay. I signed up to stay anyways, but mum must have gotten to McGonagall. She keeps taking my name off the list.”

“It’s okay,”  Harry said, even though it really, really wasn’t.  “Most people like to spend the holidays with their families. Besides, we’ll have a lot of time before break to catch up. And we can exchange gifts by owl, if it turns out I can’t come.”

“Mister Potter!” the nurse scolded from across the room. “You are meant to be resting. Get back in that bed or I’ll put the sound warding back up again.”

“She means it,”  Harry said sadly.  “Come back tomorrow?”

“Of course, Harry,”  Hermione said.  “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”  Harry watched his friends as they briefly stopped at George’s bed before leaving, then got up and went back to his own bed to lay down. He was immensely bored, but there was little he could actually do. He’d caught up on some of his classwork and managed some basic meditation that morning, and after lunch he’d prepared two class essays - which had been due a week ago. He still had several assignments to finish, but he had no motivation to work on them. He’d read and reread the comics Ron had filched for him several times over the past few days, and there was only so many times he could pace the area around his bed before he felt silly. 

* * *

Severus was impressed. The boy’s progress had improved exponentially seemingly overnight. Potter lay panting in the bed, tired and overworked from the onslaught Severus had provided, but he had managed to keep some memories away from Severus. It had been more than the mere suggestion of a shield in the boy’s mind; it was the foundation from which shields were made.

Granted, it was unusual. Everything about the boy was unusual, so why should his shielding not be unique?

That could pose a problem in and of itself. If the paths of the boy’s mind were unique, then the Dark Lord would recognize the pattern even if Potter was presented as someone else. 

“Did I do it?” Harry asked.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “You can’t tell?”

“I don’t remember what you were looking for,” the boy admitted, his green eyes fluttering as he tried to regulate his breathing. Severus recognized the beginning patterns of muggle meditation.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be a problem after all. Living mostly as muggles would explain many of Corvus’ quirks, Severus’ own reluctance to speak to them or contact them, and justify the similarities between his own son and many muggle-raised children - including Harry Potter. “Where did you learn the muggle form of meditation?” he asked.

“Hermione got me a book,” Harry said, his breathing now much closer to regular. “It made a lot more sense than the ones you had me read.”

“Perhaps, being raised muggle, the concepts in them were clearer,” Severus theorized, mostly to himself but also to see the boy’s reaction.

Potter simply shrugged. “Your books kept saying to do one thing and then describing something completely opposite, or at least it seemed that way to me. And they didn’t explain what things meant.”

Severus crossed his arms, interested despite himself. “There were words you didn’t understand?”

“I understood the important ones,” Harry said. “I meant things like ‘clear your mind’ and ‘empty out all thoughts.’ It didn’t make sense. The muggle book was easier to understand. It starts with putting yourself in a place, and then you push out anything which doesn’t fit in that space.”

It was an interesting idea, but Severus had other work to do. He would follow it later; right now it was only important that the method was not unique to Potter, and thus could not be considered proof his son and Potter were one in the same. “If you require such simplistic ideas to master this art, I see no reason for you to keep the loan of my texts.” He took his own books from Potter’s bedside table; he’d add them to Corvus’ room in his quarters, which he was just now setting up. The Headmaster had given him permission a few hours ago to make arrangements to bring Corvus to Hogwarts, and had allowed Severus to move one of the castle’s many unused rooms to adjoin his quarters and make a bedroom. 

“Does that mean you’re finished teaching me?” Harry asked.

“I am sure there is a great deal you could learn from my experience,” Severus said, keeping his voice steady, “but I am sure your mind does not have the capacity to hold such knowledge.” Some things were simply not meant for children. “We will resume our lessons tomorrow. I expect you to have a specific memory you do not wish me to view. You will tell me of the memory when I arrive, so I can know if you are successful.”

“Um,” Harry bit his lip, hesitating, and Severus held in a sigh. He could ignore the slight signal of uncertainty - it wasn’t like the child had nothing to be uncertain of - but a Potter left on his own could be quite dangerous. Just look what James had managed whenever Severus’ back had been turned.

“What is it?” Severus asked.

“You-you saw it, right?” Harry asked. It wasn’t quite a stutter; for once the boy seemed to be thinking about his words before he spoke them.

“Saw what?” Severus asked. “There were several memories you made no attempt to hide.”

Potter sat up, and though his breathing was regular Severus did note that his back was drenched in sweat and he had goosebumps all along his arms. “The memory of Quirrell. When Voldemort tried to get the stone.”

“Don’t speak his name,” Severus scolded lightly. Even if no one else had that right, Harry Potter did. But names had power. For all they knew, the Dark Lord would put a taboo on the name.

“But you saw it, right?”

“I did.” It was pointless to deny it, but apparently the memory was important to the boy. Severus wondered why; while traumatizing, Potter had shown no ill symptoms relating to the experience. It was a small miracle the boy was still sane, but the events seemed to roll off him like water off a duck’s back.

“Did I kill him?”

Or perhaps not. Severus considered his response carefully. It would not be prudent to lie to the boy, but he wasn’t entirely certain why this was coming up now and why Potter was asking him. They did not care for each other, and Severus was not one to sugar-coat the truth or provide students with comfort. His snakes learned hard lessons, but they learned to survive. But maybe therein lay the answer: perhaps Potter was tired of the pretty words. “Yes, you did.”

The boy sucked in a sharp breath, his hands fisting in the sweat-soaked sheets and his eyes bright with something Severus couldn’t identify.

“Has it taken you this long to realize he was dead?”

Harry shook his head. “I knew it, but - it was like a dream. It’s not like professors haven’t left before, and they didn’t die. Did he have a funeral?”

“There were none to mourn him,” Severus said bluntly. “Which is why he made a good target.”

The small hands tightened further, and Severus wondered if Potter would rip the sheet in his swirling teenage emotions. “Shall I inform Madame Pomfrey that you require a therapist?”

“No!” was the emphatic answer; then, more calmly: “No. I’m okay. I just - I needed to hear the truth. And no one else was down there, so no one else could tell me.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I do not appreciate being manipulated, Mister Potter,” he said. “These sessions are not intended for consolation or introspection. If that is necessary for you to achieve acceptable results, do so on your own time - or ask your family.”

Saying that to Potter would be cruel; Potter had no family left worth the ground they stood on. He could only hope the boy understood what he wanted to say.

That Severus couldn’t help him now, not openly, but he could help  _ Corvus _ .

Then again, Potter didn’t know Corvus existed. He might not understand. He was just a boy, after all.

A series of emotions flashed across the young face, and Severus recognized only a few: anger, disappointment, hurt. Fear and hope somehow warred with each other on the boy’s face.

“I will see you tomorrow night, Mister Potter. Prepare yourself, and do not waste my time.”

Severus left before he managed to damage the relationship further. Stars above, but he was beginning to actually  _ care _ .

* * *

Severus glared at the brightly shining numbers, buzzing slightly to tell him it was time to get up and prepare for the day. The spell was too cheerful for so early in the morning.

Severus had always been a night person, so coming to a school to teach had been hard. It was more difficult than people realized to change an internal clock which said sleep should be from 2 am to 10 am. Trying to sleep earlier didn’t help; his body wasn’t ready to fall asleep, and it was extremely difficult to tell his brain to stop thinking. Dragging himself out of bed every morning was his punishment for staying up too late, starting projects he’d probably not have time to finish for several weeks, at least.

At least he hadn’t gotten another crying student worried about trolls in the dungeon. Seeing Potter’s memories of Quirrell had reminded him of that blunder. It was a popular story to tell the first years: a few years ago a troll had gotten loose and was roaming the dungeons. Albus Dumbledore had ordered the students back to their dormitories, completely forgetting that Slytherins stayed in the dungeons. In truth the prefects had led the Slytherins to the advanced potions lab, which was spacious enough to house all of them and was located on the first floor. They needed the ventilation in case a potion went wrong. But the older students always liked to recount the story around Halloween, and the effect lasted for weeks after. 

He never wanted to see another teary face again, but that hope was in vain. There would always be homesick students, injuries, scared first years (and older students), and - the worst - the abused. 

Harry’s memories showed clearly he was in the last category, but Severus hadn’t brought it up yet. He didn’t know how. He had time; the boy wouldn’t be going back to his muggle relatives for months yet, assuming Severus decided not to go through with the plan. 

If he went through with it, Harry would never go back. But trauma like that isn’t erased easily.

Neither was the trauma of killing someone. It was self-defense, and the boy had only been 11 - a mere child. But the conversation the night before proved he had never been allowed to deal with the events properly; instead they were bubbling around inside his brain like an ill-tended potion doomed to explode at exactly the wrong time.

Albus had told Severus that Potter had to die. Was that why matters hadn’t been looked into further? Quirrell wasn’t the only problem; after last night’s session he had reviewed the school records and found no instances where Potter had officially been offered assistance after the incident of Ginerva Weasley’s near death, the dementor attack which nearly killed him, or the death of Cedric Diggory. The boy had been near death four times on school property, and not once had someone spoken to the boy.

Even Severus had been given the opportunity to speak to a healer after he’d been attacked, and that event had been kept from official school records. 

But Harry was stronger than Severus was. Severus had seen that. He knew it was pointless to try to compare cases of abuse and trauma, but Severus didn’t need to compare how much they had suffered at the hands of others. All he looked at - all that  _ mattered  _ \- was the outcome. And Harry had friends while Severus was the ‘greasy dungeon bat’, jaded and alone.

The alarm numbers shone brighter for a moment, making Severus see spots, and he pushed the covers back and waved away the spell. Two more days and he would know if Potter was his heir. Two more days before he knew if he would have a son.

Severus wondered if it was even worth finding out at this point. Lily would tell him he had already made his decision. Lily would tell him the results didn’t matter anymore. Lily would smile softly and tell him that she understood.

But Severus didn’t. To him, the results  _ mattered _ . He just wasn’t sure why.


	10. Chapter 10

“That’s the potion?” Harry asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and swinging his legs. Severus noticed they didn’t actually reach the ground, being a good five or six inches short, and realized it would be quite easy to make him younger by even two years. Whatever had occurred in his youth to stunt the Potter growth would play in their favor.

But Potter didn’t know what his role would be yet. Couldn’t, really; it was too dangerous to put such thoughts in an unshielded mind. Potter was improving, but still learning. “It’s a deadly poison meant to turn your stomach into steaming acid that will slowly eat through your gut until you die in horrible agony,” Severus couldn’t help but tease.

Of course Potter wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of Severus’ brand of teasing and the boy took him seriously, backing away from the cauldron with surprising speed. Severus couldn’t say what had put him in a such a strange mood, but he found the boy’s actions amusing nonetheless.

“Relax, Potter. Thankfully for us, the potion doesn’t rely on your ability to remember what you’ve learned.” Honestly, the boy had spent the past three days going over the final instructions for the potion’s completion and what the results could mean. Had he not retained anything, not even the potion’s color?

“It won’t turn my insides to acid?” he asked with a scrunched face.

“It’s not meant to be consumed,” Severus said, letting his normal disappointment and disgust creep into his voice.

“Why isn’t Dumbledore here?”

“Headmaster Dumbledore is much too busy to be disturbed every time we make a step forward in your academics,” Severus said simply. To be honest, he didn’t want Dumbledore to see the results. He ladled some of the potion into two separate vials. Into one he would put his blood and in the other he would put Potter’s. One of the two of them would show as his heir. Either himself, because he had none, or Potter.

“I’ll demonstrate,” he said. He made a small cut on the tip of his finger and allowed one drop to fall into the six ounces of bubbling grey liquid. Slowly, starting from the place where his blood first touched potion, the liquid turned black in smoky waves. The bubbling ceased and when he turned the vial over a solid black mass clunked out like a toy building block. “Do you remember this result?”

“You-you’re not the heir,” Harry said, staring at the block in awe. “Can I touch it?”

Severus gave into the urge to roll his eyes, picked up the black mass, and tossed it to the boy on the bed. “It is a harmless, inert solid,” he drawled. Harry caught the block, an easy task for a teen used to catching a tiny snitch. “It is basically a rock. Unless you want to hit someone over the head with it, it is useless.”

Despite its uselessness, Harry seemed fascinated with it. He was rolling it around in his hands like he’d never seen anything like it. “I love magic,” Severus heard him mutter, too low for most to have picked up on. Severus had stayed alive by hearing such whispers, but this one he didn’t know what to do with.

“Stop wasting time, Potter,” Severus said, rolling his eyes as the boy’s gaze stayed fixed on the chunk of smooth coal-colored solid. “If you two need a moment alone, I’d rather not be present.”

Blushing a bit, Harry set the block down on the nightstand and then took the potion knife and made a small cut on his finger. He leaned forward and put a drop of his blood in the second vial, then stuck the finger in his mouth. Severus winced, then pulled the finger out of the boy’s mouth and healed the cut.

The potion was reacting to Harry’s blood, turning white and expanding outwards, overflowing the vial. It was light, and looked like clouds.

Harry was watching it closely. “I’m-”

“-not my heir,” Severus interrupted.

“What?” Harry asked, shocked, turning sharply to stare at Severus.

“This is important, Potter. That block,” he said, nodding to the block on the nightstand, “is the result of your blood hitting the potion.” He vanished the contents of the second vial, ladled out more potion, and added his own blood once more. Once it was solid, he tossed the block to Potter. This time the boy missed the catch, wincing slightly as the block hit his chest lightly before falling to his lap. Severus saw confusion on his face, and disappointment, but didn’t make any effort to ease either. “We both failed.”

“Why?”

“That’s not important right now,” Severus said and vanished the rest of the potion. “The rest of the potion spilled on the floor, knocked over when we realized we both failed. Can you remember that, Potter? Hide the true memory behind your strongest shield, as far down in your mind as you can, and remember  _ this _ instead?”

“Why!” Harry demanded. “Why are you denying it? That result- that result meant-!”

For a moment it looked like the boy might actually cry. “It is a test, Potter,” Severus said. And truly it was. If Harry’s shields could hide this from the Headmaster, if the Dumbledore didn’t suspect, then Harry would be ready. Ready to take on a new life and hide ‘Harry Potter’ from the rest of the world, deep enough the Dark Lord wouldn’t find him.

Ready to be his son.

* * *

Harry was squeezing the lump of hard potion so hard his fingers were white with the strain. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or hurl the lump of “useless rock” at the wall and hope it shattered into a hundred pieces.

He didn’t understand. The result had been obvious. Was Snape denying him? Didn’t Snape want him?

Probably not. Snape had always hated him, why should one little test result make any difference? 

He had said hiding the result was a test, too. The most pressing question, though, was if Harry would do what Snape said and pretend he’d failed the test - that he had no ties to Snape at all - or if he’d ignore the instruction and tell the truth. 

He was hurting. He thought he’d learned to bury those emotions. Living with the Dursleys meant no one cared how Harry felt, but they cared if he showed it. Angry outbursts got him smacked around, and tears got him locked up. Yet this year he’d gotten both angry at and hurt by Dumbledore’s actions, his friends’ secrets, and the general disbelief of his classmates. The public articles hadn’t hurt as much as his classmates questions. He faced his classmates every day, and they knew him.

Snape keeping secrets from him wasn’t new. Snape had been doing that since first year. In fact, it seemed like Snape had been keeping some really  _ big _ secrets from him, if he was close enough to Harry’s parents to even ask them to keep the potion for him. Even if Harry hadn’t been his heir, that secret alone spoke of a really close relationship to at least one of his parents. What had Snape said? That he had a chance Harry’s dad wouldn’t laugh in his face, throw the potion out, or blackmail him with it because of Harry’s mother, Lily. 

He’d been in the hospital wing with no classes for weeks, and he was just now wondering about that? Maybe Snape was right - maybe he was an idiot. He could have spent those weeks asking about his mother. If it made Snape mad, Snape was less likely to come around for lessons; if it didn’t, then Harry would learn more about his mother.

But it was too late now. Snape was telling him to  _ deny _ that result, to bury it under everything he was and  _ lie _ . To say he wasn’t Snape’s heir.

He wanted to cry.

He wanted to scream. 

He wanted, for once, for someone to just tell him what was going on. 

“Harry?” It was Hermione, back again at the edge of his wards.

Taking a breath, Harry pushed down the urge to cry so only the anger remained and turned to his friend. “Hey,” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, ignoring the question as her eyes narrowed on the block in Harry’s hands. The matching block - in the shape of a potion vial - was still on the side table.

“Keep a secret?” Harry asked. “Even from Ron?”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she nodded slowly. “Are you still sick?” she asked nervously. “You’re not - you’re not dying are you?”

“What?” Harry asked, startled. “No - why would you even think that?”

“The potion,” Hermione said, nodding to the block in Harry’s hands. “A lot of the potions that Saint Mungo’s uses to test for diseases show results by either solidifying into a chunk the shape of the container or transforming into harmless smoke. Usually a solid chunk indicates the presence of a disease - a really serious one.”

Harry swallowed. “Can it mean something isn’t there?” he asked. “Like - the lack of a potion, or a magical connection?”

Hermione frowned. “Did you use it to test your connection to Voldemort?” She asked. “I haven’t looked into those kinds of spells. According to the records I looked at, potions with yes/no results are typically designed to use solidifying and evaporating as the indicators, but it can mean different things depending on which potions you used.”

“Oh,” Harry said, looking at the block. He’d studied the books Snape had made him read only half-heartedly. He hadn’t realized it was such a common thing to test for something using potions, but it made sense. Witches and wizards didn’t have science labs to look at a person’s blood through microscopes. And making the results somewhat universal meant that Healers didn’t have to go checking some potion book to know an answer.

“What did you test?”

“My magic,” Harry said honestly. “I just - I don’t know if the result is good or bad. Don’t tell Ron, okay, but - I tested to see if my magic was linked to someone else’s. I think. You know I’m rubbish at potions. Snape said to choose a project so I picked a page at random-”

“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said. “We already knew he was sending you dreams.”

Dreams? Oh, right. She thought he meant Voldemort. “But - the result was negative,” Harry said, showing the block. “Doesn’t that mean there’s no connection?”

Hermione blinked.

It was a horrible lie, but Harry was already neck-deep and had to either keep going or confess. Since he hadn’t made a decision yet and he could always confess later, Harry tried to tie it back to the growing hype - something he would naturally be worried about. “Does that mean the dreams - nightmares - aren’t real?”

Hermione bit her lip. “I don’t know how that specific potion works, Harry, but maybe it only works if the connection is - you know - active? Like, when he’s sending you dreams or making your scar hurt. Maybe it can’t tell if the connection is passive.”

Harry frowned, staring at the block, and reminded himself that Hermione didn’t know they had suspected Harry was connected to Snape at all. She didn’t know what the test really was. No one knew. And maybe they could laugh it off when Voldemort was dead - maybe in a few years he would laugh off the whole thing - but not right now. Right now he couldn’t tell anyone, didn’t know if he could tell the truth, and the worst part of it all was the conflicting emotions eating him up inside.

He wanted to go curl up in front of Gryffindor’s dorm fire and be surrounded by the sounds and movement of the dorm and the comfort of the familiar couch, Hermione and Ron at his side.

And he also wanted absolutely no one to talk to him, to ask why he was so confused, or angry, or upset.

He’d learned two different forms of safety over the years. From the Dursley’s, it was always safest to be alone, silent, and out of the way. At school, safety came from the friends who watched his back. Now he was hurt and confused and his muddled brain wanted both and that  _ frustrated  _ him. He knew he could trust his friends; he knew he couldn’t trust anyone.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, sounding worried. “Should I get the nurse?”

Harry shook his head. “I just - I just need to think,” he said. “Wish you could be inside the ward, though,” he half-laughed. “You could have checked my work so I’d know if I mucked it up or not. I probably did. Heck, I messed up  _ ink _ , and Snape said that was about the simplest potion there was.”

Hermione huffed. “You did not mess that one up! I swear, didn’t you even read the instructions? You were already sick then, even if you weren’t showing symptoms yet, and that potion specifically states it can’t have any magic being worked near it while it’s brewing!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You think Snape’s going to accept that? He’s probably already flunked me.”

“There’s no way you could have gotten sick this fast otherwise,” Hermione said sternly. “Dragon Pox takes a few days to really manifest. You’re really lucky you didn’t get anyone else sick - though how  _ you _ picked it up is still strange.”

Harry didn’t mention that most of his friends were mad at him, and that he couldn’t infect someone who didn’t want to come near him. “Maybe someone had it in Hogsmeade,” he said without thinking.

“Harry Potter!” Hermione whisper-shrieked. “You went to  _ Hogsmeade _ when Umbridge was about?”

Harry winced. “Um, I’m thinking I should get back to studying now. I think Snape said he was going to send a pop-quiz to me this afternoon, so I should get ready for it…”

“Don’t you even try to weasel out of this,” Hermione scolded. “We agreed not to do anything risky while that pink toad was torturing you. Does Ron know about this trip?”

Harry shook his head. He hadn’t been thinking when he said that - well, he had been thinking, but of a trip early in the year. Obviously that trip was too far back and Hermione had leapt to the conclusion that he’d snuck out between then and when he’d gotten sick.

The nurse came out of her office then, probably drawn by the sounds of their talking, and Hermione’s furious face got a determined edge. “This isn’t over,” she told him sternly. Then she turned on her heel and left.

Harry sighed. Now he just had to figure out what to do about Snape.

* * *

“Ah, Severus,” Albus said as the potions master entered his office. “Lemon drop?”

Severus declined, sitting across from the aging Headmaster.

“I trust you were able to get the results of the potion?” Albus asked.

Severus nodded. “As hard as it might be to believe, for once Potter told me the truth - he did throw the potion out. Or, at the very least, the boy is not my heir. Maybe he tried and failed, and he lied out of embarrassment that he could not perform that night.”

Albus sighed as the familiar grudge. “I see. We will have to look further, then, to determine the cause of Harry’s undetermined result.”

“A fool’s errand, if I ever saw one. The possibilities are too vast. Just admit the boy likely found a spell of a dark nature and dabbled in a bit of dark magic. It’s the most likely explanation, and one any magical family would accept and dismiss. Test him for it, or just wait. In a few years the taint will fade and he can try the potion again. This entire endeavor was a waste of time. Stars above, it’s not like either of us  _ wanted  _ the brat to be my heir.”

“You think ill of the boy too often, Severus,” Dumbledore said.

“Wouldn’t you? The boy took polyjuice in his second year; he’s obviously capable of finding things he shouldn’t be taking and spells he shouldn’t be using.”

“We need the truth,” Dumbledore answered, leaning back in his chair wearily. “Only the truth can help us.”

“What can help us is getting the ministry out of the school. You haven’t told us who they’re asking to replace Umbridge yet; I know Lord Malfoy was furious over the threat to his son. Have you considered what having him near your precious Golden Boy would lead to? The boy’s obsessed enough with the younger Malfoy as it is. And what of a lead on those protections the Dark Lord has against death? Those tethers you spoke of. You haven’t yet told me if such magic can be transferred to a new vessel. Or informed the Order of the full prophecy,” Severus dared to push. “I swore to protect the boy; tell me what I protect him  _ from _ .”

“I told you-”

“You told me the mind connection couldn’t be severed until one of them died, but surely you knew I wouldn’t settle for that. I’m no fool, Albus. Prophecies are never that straight-forward.”

“No,” Albus said, sighing. “It’s not. But I cannot tell you the full prophecy, Severus. It’s too dangerous. I’ve already told you too much. Please, just work with Harry on shielding his mind. On finding the cause of this discrepancy. It’s important. I can feel it.”

“And if it is his connection to the Dark Lord which causes it?”

“We will face that result when we learn it is the truth, and not before.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Good afternoon, Harry,” Dumbledore greeted, waving his wand to transfigure the guest chair into a plush purple armchair with brilliant gold striping along the seams.

“Good afternoon, professor,” Harry said. He hadn’t really had a chance to come to a decision on what to tell Dumbledore yet, but apparently his time to consider the matter was over.

Then again, it didn’t look like Dumbledore was even really going to ask him. “I see both of you tested negative. Professor Snape seemed most befuddled by the result.”

“Angry, you mean,” Harry corrected. It was the truth, too. Snape had seemed almost angry with the results. He had despised them so much he’d asked Harry to bury the truth. What did it say about Harry that no one - not the Dursleys, not Snape, not anyone - wanted him? The only one who really seemed to want him was Sirius, and Sirius was a criminal on the run. Harry bit down on the hurt that had bubbled up and forced himself to focus on the conversation. “What does it mean?”

“I imagine it means that relative he made his monetary heir is, in fact, his magical heir as well,” Dumbledore said.

“I meant for me,” Harry responded, though he was a little surprised. He hadn’t realized Snape had any heirs.

Dumbledore seemed tired. “It means very little, I’m afraid.”

“So I’ve been in here for weeks without being able to really talk to any of my friends, without being able to leave or fly - I’ve been eating in here and using charms for showers - and we didn’t find out  _ anything _ ?” Harry asked, fisting the sheets in anger and hurt and confusion. What had it all been for, then? He was locked up in the hospital wing like a princess from a fairy tale and they’d learned nothing?

“I wouldn’t say that,” Dumbledore said gently. “Your lessons with Professor Snape have been progressing-”

“Why is it so important anyway?” Harry practically growled, crossing his arms. Lessons learned the hard way from the Dursleys were proving true in the magical world as well: adults couldn’t be trusted. It was as true in first year as it was now as it was in muggle primary. He’d trusted that he needed to be locked up and confined to a bed while the  _ adults _ figured out what was going on, and it had gotten them nowhere. Hermione could have - would have - done better. She knew how to focus on what mattered. “It’s not like he ever  _ wanted _ me, and I know my parents are gone. The stupid ink didn’t tell us anything new.”

“All knowledge, however insignificant, is important,” Dumbledore said, unbothered by the interruption. “You never know when the smallest detail might have the greatest impact on your future.”

Harry turned and threw his legs over the side of the bed opposite the Headmaster. “Since when does Snape have an heir anyways?” he asked. “I thought we were testing to see if  _ I _ was his heir.”

“We were,” Dumbledore said, “and it’s Professor Snape, Harry. It was a recent development. A few weeks ago he was sending owls to Gringotts to finalize the paperwork. He has a son he named his heir.”

Harry gaped at him. “He has a  _ son _ ?”

Dumbledore nodded. “He told me only just this morning. He hadn’t wanted word to get out, but he needed to ask for permission to transfer the boy to Hogwarts’ roster in the middle of the year. He was staying with relatives who have recently passed. I know this comes as a shock, Harry.”

Harry turned away and stared fiercely at the floor. “Does this mean I can finally get out of here?” he asked, changing the subject. He didn’t want to think about Snape having a son.

“To keep up the ruse it will be necessary for you to stay a little longer, but I see no reason why your friends should be barred from visiting you.”

“How long?”

“A few more days,” Dumbledore said gently. “You should be able to have dinner with your friends on Tuesday or Wednesday, though I’m afraid you’ll miss the weekend. And I don’t want you to be surprised by this Harry: Professor Snape’s son will be a late arrival this semester. He should be here next week.”

“The son he told you about this morning, right?” Harry huffed, still cross. Something itched at the back of his mind, though. This morning the potion hadn’t been ready yet. Snape hadn’t come to test Harry until just before lunch. He couldn’t imagine the greasy git having one child, and within a month he had potentially gained two.

Well at least the man would be relieved he only had one, and that one wasn’t a Potter at all.

Dumbledore nodded in answer to Harry’s question. “I suspect he was anticipating a failed result,” he said sadly. “My apologies, my boy. I fear Professor Snape isn’t quite ready for family. He was quite reluctant to accept any children. I doubt we even would have heard of his son had the situation not necessitated it.”

Harry bit his lip and nodded, more confused than ever by his potions professor. He felt like he had back in first year, when he learned that Snape had been trying to save him instead of kill him. Everything had flipped until he didn’t know which way was up. He hadn’t seen any of the other professors limping around after being attacked by three-headed dogs on the suspicions of a child. Yet Snape acted like Harry’s opinions didn’t matter and hadn’t tried to make Harry believe otherwise.

Of course, there were other concerns too. Like what his friends would think. Hermione was probably already greatly confused by their conversation earlier. Feeling he should probably warn the headmaster before his book-loving friend bombarded him with questions, Harry said: “Hermione saw the blocks and knew they were the result of a potion to test something.” 

“She is quite the clever witch,” Dumbledore said, smiling brightly. “I imagine you told her the truth?”

“Snape told me not to,” Harry said honestly, confused. He had been told not to tell anyone; had Dumbledore expected him to disregard the instructions? “You said it was supposed to be a secret too.”

“Indeed I did,” the old wizard said. “But I understand secrets are difficult to keep. Especially in a school.”

“I didn’t lie to her,” Harry was quick to say. He didn’t think he had, anyways. It was hard to say. She had drawn a lot of her own conclusions, and he’d encouraged them. Was that lying? Harry couldn’t remember what he’d said exactly, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t lied. “I told her it was to test if I had a magical connection to someone. She assumed I meant Voldemort.”

Dumbledore nodded, though Harry couldn’t see it. “He is your most prominent magical connection. There is no doubt you are linked. It would be a valid test to confirm the potion worked as expected.”

“I couldn’t explain the negative result. I told her I might have brewed it wrong, but I don’t know what she’ll think.”

“Miss Granger is a very bright witch; I am sure she will come to a reasonable conclusion,” Dumbledore said, waving off the concern. “If she does have questions and you feel uncomfortable discussing it, you can send her to me.”

“But I’m not supposed to go to you,” Harry said.

“I have been busy lately, my boy. I am sorry-”

“If Hermione wants to see you, she can. But you’re too busy to see me.”

“You may not believe me right now, but it is better this way. You must trust me.”

It was really hard to trust right then, when Dumbledore had basically just told him he’d been quarantined for no reason and almost confirmed he’d been avoiding Harry. And that he expected Harry to disregard certain rules. Harry may have been lying, but he was doing what Snape had told him to do. Was this what it was like to be an adult? Deciding who could know the truth and who couldn’t? Expecting everyone else to just do as you said - or not - as you wanted them to. It was so confusing.

Harry didn’t answer, just let the silence drag on, and after a few minutes Dumbledore finally sighed, accepting that the conversation was over, and stood. “I will inform the nurse of the turn in your health and discuss with her when it would be most appropriate for you to rejoin your classmates. I am sure you won’t have to suffer this loneliness much longer. Just bare it for one more weekend.”

Harry kept his silence, and Dumbledore left.

He startled when, a few minutes later, the chair popped back into its original state.

* * *

“Wormtail!” Voldemort shouted, flicking his wand at the fireplace to bring some heat into the room. He couldn’t understand why the blasted rat kept it so cold. Had the man never mastered the simple heating charm?

“Yes, my lord?” simpered the fat little man, resembling his animagus form far too much. 

“I thought I told you to prepare the main hall for a meeting of my Deatheaters?” Voldemort sneered through his teeth. “What is with the disgusting display out there?”

“My lord?” Wormtail asked, in honest confusion. “I did prepare the hall.”

Voldemort raised one non-existent eyebrow. “You prepared the hall?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to paint the walls pink, place long white tables down the room, and replace the windows with stained glass motifs of roses and lilies?”

Wormtail paled. “I don’t believe that’s how I left it, my lord!” he cried in a panic. “Honest!”

“Do you doubt me?” 

“Of course not!”

“Rectify the situation, Wormtail, or Nagini will find out if animagus rats really do taste better than the ones she finds in the sewers.”

The rat fled the room, and Voldemort cast a discreet freshening charm on the air to chase away the scent of vermin. Wormtail had always been a wimp; he didn’t know what had given the pathetic creature the courage for even that small rebellion. 

* * *

Lucius Malfoy stared at his wife. She sat before her vanity carefully brushing her own hair, the picture of a perfect noble wife, but he still couldn’t quite believe what she had just said. She had spent the morning with her friends and spent the afternoon supervising the elves at Crouch’s manor. How she had found time to do anything else, much less felt the need to, was beyond him. “Cissa, I do wonder if perhaps you’re growing a bit too attached to a boy you haven’t even met yet,” he said carefully.

“Nonsense, Luce. He’s Severus’ son; he should always feel welcome in our home,” Narcissa said. “I can’t believe we didn’t think to have a room cleaned for Severus sooner. It’s not like he stays that often in his own home, and it can’t be any fun for him living in a school all the time. How’s he going to meet anyone if all he does is teach children and research potions? You should take him out sometime. He’s still young enough to find a wife.”

Lucius sighed. It wasn’t that he disagreed with Narcissa, really, it was just - “What if the boy turns out to be a muggle-lover? Severus did say the people who raised him weren’t exactly the right kind of people.”

“And so what if he is?” Narcissa asked, eyes narrowing sharply. “It’s not his fault if he was raised by muggle-lovers. He’s Severus’ son, and that is the end of it. Antoine will bring his new wardrobe over on Saturday, and I asked William to have a selection of books and games moved out of storage for him. I thought he might like grandfather’s chess set. Draco never had anyone to play against.”

“How often do you really think the boy is going to stay here?” Lucius asked, trying to keep the conversation reasonable. And just when had she gotten the boy’s measurements? “He has his own room at Severus’ house - which you know full well is suitable since Severus asked you to attend to it yourself - and Severus told me Corvus will have a room in Severus’ suite at Hogwarts.”

“Where they’ll both be under the watchful eye of that dreadful Headmaster,” Narcissa whined. “And Draco, too! My poor baby!”

Lucius startled a bit at the uncharacteristic display, and wondered briefly if his wife had been in the wine cellar again. It had happened a few times the first year Draco had been away from home, but she hadn’t done anything like that in years. “Severus will be watching out for them,” he tried to console.

“Yes, but you had to go and give him that dreadful idea of watching out for dark artefacts,” Narcissa said, her tone suddenly flat and angry. 

_ Definitely been in the wine, _ Lucius thought.

Narcissa swiveled to face him. “What in the world keeps you from telling him he can stop now?” she demanded. “We found the low-life who was hurting children, and there can’t possibly be any more threats now that she’s gone. Weren’t you the one who told me she was carted off by Aurors, and that Castor was going to try and take her classes for the rest of the year?”

“Castor’s having a hard time getting the position,” Lucius sighed honestly, sitting on the bed. “He’s always appeared to be a neutral, so he has some votes from each side, but those with extreme views on both sides are trying to offer up different instructors. Since the decision should be left up to the Headmaster, we also have to argue on whether or not it is appropriate for the school board to elect someone. Again. Bones brought up at the last meeting that the position might even be cursed.”

“Cursed?” Narcissa asked, back to brushing her hair out.

Lucius nodded. “Ever since Quirrell returned five years ago, no one’s been able to keep the defense professorship for more than year - some don’t even make it the full year. There’s rumors his spirit cursed the position when he died.”

“Oh hogswash,” Narcissa huffed. “That’s just silly. Quirrell didn’t have enough magic in him to startle a toad, much less curse it.”

“That’s true,” Lucius agreed, smiling as he watched his wife carefully braid her hair in preparation for bed. She was dressed in a light nightgown; though it was cooler out as winter approached, Narcissa had taken to keeping the fireplaces lit in their rooms and several heavy quilts on the bed. His smile turned into a grin as he stood to make his way over to her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “We do have the house to ourselves tonight, you know,” he whispered into her ear as he started massaging the tense muscles under his palms. “No guests, no plans, and Draco away at school-”

He gasped as she elbowed him in the stomach. “How dare you even think that our son being away from home would make me happy,” she snapped. “ _ You _ can sleep on the couch tonight.” She stood and stormed into the bathroom to finish her night-time routines.

Lucius rubbed his stomach and wondered if maybe Severus’ potions had made their way down to the wine cellar. His wife was being particularly moody - and had even turned down an opportunity for sex! Granted, they weren’t exactly young anymore, but his wife had always appreciated a good tumble. 

He frowned as he found himself rubbing at the mark on his arm, a slight burn telling him Voldemort wanted to speak with him.

Maybe it was a good thing Narcissa had turned him down. The last time he’d had to leave before she got what she wanted, she’d charmed the bathroom to give him cold showers for a month.


	12. Chapter 12

Severus quickly made his way up the stairs to the Headmaster’s tower, his robes billowing behind him. He didn’t bother knocking, simply threw open the door to the office with a wave of his hand.

“Severus?” Albus asked, standing. 

From the chair in front of the Headmaster’s desk Remus Lupin also stood, turning to face Severus. “Is something wrong?” the werewolf asked.

Severus had to admit, the werewolf was practical. He made a mental note that it would be a potential problem if the wolf stayed, but he didn’t have time to consider the repercussions. He’d already put too many pieces in motion. He couldn’t delay to account for new details. “He’s calling.”

“Of course, of course,” Dumbledore said, gathering his robes to circle his desk. “The floo is open. Please.”

Severus nodded and grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the pot Dumbledore offered. The trip the Leaky Cauldron was quick, and then he was apparating to the Dark Lord’s current hideout. He met Lucius in the entryway. “Good evening,” he said.

Lucius nodded. “You may want to check your son’s room,” the blonde responded quietly. “Narcissa was in a mood tonight.”

“Angry?”

Lucius shook his head. “Just strange. She had a room cleared out in the manor and prepared it for your son, should he ever wish to stay with us. Even ordered clothes.”

Severus startled. “Where did she get the measurements?”

“That’s what  _ I _ want to know,” Lucius muttered. They stepped into the dining hall, where Voldemort sat at the head of the table. The table itself appeared to have an animal carcass dismembered along its length, evidence of a ritual of some sort. Blood was dripping onto the floor as the two men fell to their knees with a chorus of “my lord.”

“It’s such a lovely evening, isn’t it?” Voldemort asked. “Please, stand. My two  _ loyal _ followers.”

Cautiously, the two men stood.

“I have called the both of you here for a very specific reason. Can you guess what that reason is?”

Both men gave a small bow again. “We are here to serve you, my lord, whatever the task,” Lucius said.

“A very political answer!” Voldemort smirked. “Severus, dare you to guess?”

“I bow to your wisdom, my lord,” he said. 

“Pathetic. You are both too cowardly, too afraid of being wrong to move forward,” Voldemort stood and began pacing. “We have become stagnant, unproductive and ungrowing. Few new magics have been researched or tried; too few have focused on rethinking what we know.”

Neither man moved; their lord’s moods were too unpredictable for it to be safe.

“It is time we look back to the older arts, the ancient magics,” Voldemort continued. “Wandless magic.”

“Wandless magic, my lord?” Lucius dared to ask. “Isn’t such magic dangerous?”

“Only if not controlled,” Voldemort answered, stopping his pacing to look at the two men. “Now is the time to push forward with our goals; it has not yet been confirmed that we have returned, and while the public is ignorant we have the opportunity to do some good for our children and for our community. We’ve removed learning the theory of certain magics in the classroom - Lucius, you will push for the learning of wandless magic theory in schools. This will hopefully allow research which is currently banned to be returned to the light. And what does come to the light you will provide copies of for all three of us to study.”

“May I ask, my lord, if there is something specific we are aiming to accomplish?”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed only for a moment at Severus’ question. “Simple,” he said. “We’re looking for a way to escape ministry control.”

Severus was still confused, but didn’t dare voice his ignorance. He had pushed his luck enough for one night. He would let Dumbledore theorize on the whys - assuming he shared that bit of information with the meddling old man - he would simply do as his lord bid.

There was a hoot at the window and the sound of a beak tapping against the glass. Severus and Lucius both looked up to see a common tawny owl, looking scrawny and unhappy.

Voldemort waved his hand to open the window - an impressive display of wandless magic likely meant to intrigue them - and the owl flew in, swept past the bloody mess on the table, and landed on Severus’ shoulder. Severus took a moment to breathe and reinforce the shields in his mind. He knew this owl, but he did not - could not - know what letter it carried. As soon as he relieved the owl of its burden, the bird took off through the open window in an eager bid for freedom.

“Such an interruption had better be important,” the Dark Lord hissed, and Severus fell to his knees again. If Voldemort was in a mood to throw curses about, it was better to be closer to the ground - he didn’t fall as far that way.

“I believe I recognize the owl, my lord. There’s only one which would seek me wherever I am, and not wait for me at Hogwarts,” Severus answered carefully.

“And what owl is that?”

“An emergency owl concerning my son, my lord,” Severus said, letting his fist clench around the parchment.

“Read it,” the Dark Lord commanded.

Severus opened the heavy envelope to read the contents aloud.

_ Dear Mister Snape, _

_ It is with deep regret that I must write to you and advise you of an incident which has occurred today concerning your son. I wish first to tell you that your son has been very brave, and is receiving the best care our healers can offer.  _

_ While brewing a potion during class, a student’s cauldron exploded. Unfortunately this student was working at the station beside Corvus, and your son was unable to escape from the blast. _

_ I wish to reiterate that your son is receiving exceptional care and he will fully recover. Aside from some scarring on his face and hand, no permanent damage occurred. We are still prepared for you to pick up your son next Friday, after the final class of the day, however we understand if you wish to see Corvus sooner to ensure his wellbeing. The professors have all been informed to direct you to the proper place should you need help upon your arrival. _

_ We will await your arrival next Friday, at half past three, at the front gate. _

_ You have our sympathies. _

__ Miss Periwinkle,  
_ Director of Student Affairs  
_ _ Salem Academy of Magic for the Muggle-raised_

“Go,” Voldemort said. “See to your son.”

Severus wondered briefly at the kindness, but quickly pushed it aside. He had no doubt the Dark Lord would interrogate him later, but that was later. He had other things to see to at the moment, including making sure his ‘son’ would pass scrutiny.

* * *

“Is there a problem, Lucius?” the Dark Lord asked as Lucius watched his former classmate leave in a rush.

“No, my lord,” Lucius said, sweeping his robes back so he could perform a small bow without getting blood on the hem. “I simply worry for him. I am a father myself; I know it can be frightening when your child is hurt and you cannot reach him immediately.”

“Is that all?”

“This  _ is _ his first experience as a father,” Lucius said slowly. “And I have heard of this Salem Academy - it is referred to as the ‘SAMM’ school. His child is the product of magical blood, but attends a school for the muggle-raised. A part-time wizarding school which also provides muggle classes. It raises questions, my lord.”

“Indeed,” the Dark Lord said slowly, seating himself at the head of the table once more. “Severus plays a loyal spy to Dumbledore, yet his son was essentially stolen from him and raised with muggle-loving fools. It is the only conclusion we can draw from the information provided, which raises even larger questions.”

“My Lord?” Lucius asked.

“The plot reeks of Dumbledore’s hand and confirms the fool doesn’t trust Severus as a spy. Which means he may be feeding Severus false information, or his son may be part of a plan in another of Dumbledore’s schemes. But how did Dumbledore know of the child when Severus didn’t - and how many other pureblood wizarding children are entering our world as mudbloods? Are being denied their own heritage?”

Lucius bowed further, keeping his head down. It was quite a large leap to make from one child being in a school for the muggle-raised. It was entirely possible it was the only school accepting students, or perhaps the school where his friends were, or the only school his caretakers could afford. The more pressing question was why Severus had never mentioned or asked after his son - but Severus had always been a private man, and he tended to shelter his charges too much. It was highly probably he had thought he was protecting the boy by not mentioning him. Severus may have even modified his own memory to forget the child.

It wasn’t  _ impossible _ that Dumbledore had a hand in the boy’s placement, or that he had known Severus had a son before Severus was forced to rediscover the boy. Severus wouldn’t have wanted the old man to manipulate the son as he had the father.

But what would have been Dumbledore’s point in taking a child Severus didn’t remember?

“Do we have anyone in place who could push for practical legislation concerning the schools in the current climate?” Voldemort demanded as Lucius gathered his thoughts. “Someone other than yourself?”

“The Avery family has been out of politics for some time, but were quite vocal in their upset over the recent scandal with the Umbridge woman,” Lucius said, thinking quickly. “Castor is pushing for the defense position, and could possibly make some suggestions after he secures it but he cannot propose actual legislation himself. He doesn’t have the necessary lordships or ministry position. We could maneuver a light family to actually propose the idea, depending on what we would like the actual law to say. The Millers, possibly, or the Browns. The Millcrofts also have children in school, but they would not want to risk choosing a side with legislation.”

“We must proceed carefully, so no one suspects our true goals,” Voldemort said. “We must search for magical ability at a younger age, as young as five or six - before they begin studying in muggle schools. And when we find them we must determine their rightful heritage. Only then can we prove the old fool has been switching our magical children with muggle imposters. He’s a crafty fox, but we’ll show him he cannot outwit a snake.”

Lucius swallowed and wondered if maybe his lord was mad.

But it was still part of the ideal he had seen when he first joined, a glimmer of that first rousing cause. To identify magical children early and bring them into the fold before muggle ideas and muggle limitations tainted their way of thinking. Even paranoid, the Dark Lord still remembered their cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. RL things happened and I didn't have the chance to post.


	13. Chapter 13

Snape carefully arranged the burden in his arms to a more comfortable position. The boy appeared to be sleeping soundly, and was light as feather thanks to a charm, but he hadn’t realized how awkward actually carrying a large child was.

The child didn’t have a name, or at least not one that Severus had bothered to learn. He had taken the boy from a lesser magical hospital in Greece - and it had taken nearly two days and quite a bit of his skills to do that! - and he had only checked to ensure the boy was terminally ill and unwakeable. If not for the magic supporting his body, the boy would be dead. His parents had agreed to take him off the life-supporting spells, so he wouldn’t be missed either. It would be an embarrassment for the hospital to admit they’d lost a dead body when they had the paperwork (which Severus had completed carefully) showing the spells had been removed, after all.

Severus had to do this. No one else - the Headmaster or the Order - would be willing to take such a step. He didn’t trust them not to see Harry Potter beneath the mask and knew they would still use him the way they used Severus if they found out. 

When Po-Harry found out he was going to be furious. He wasn’t going to understand. But he was a child, and he was Severus’ heir. Harry had hidden the results of the potion, the results proving Severus’ guess had been right. James Potter had lied to him. It was a risk to test Harry while he was awake, making the child complicent in the lie, but if he couldn’t hide from the Headmaster then the Dark Lord  _ would  _ find out.

Severus had told the Headmaster Potter wasn’t his heir and the test had come back negative. He’d suggested doing as he had  _ first _ recommended and testing the boy’s wand for dark magic, but Dumbledore had wanted him to research other reasons first. To find the  _ truth _ . 

Severus already knew the truth. Harry had performed wonderfully, showing the two blocks - Harry still wouldn’t get rid of them and Severus still didn’t understand the fascination - and saying Severus had been agitated with the results. 

Severus knew Harry was ready when the Headmaster didn’t suspect the ruse. Severus had put his plan in earnest play then, but still hadn’t told anyone, not even Harry, what the plan was. This had always been the kind of man Severus was. He wasn’t on anyone’s  _ side _ ; he spied for both sides to save his own skin and his own interests. Since Harry had become one of those, he’d resorted to kidnapping a sick child to do what was necessary to get his own heir out of the spotlight. Po-Harry’s idea hadn’t been completely ridiculous when he’d suggested Severus  _ make Harry his son _ . He’d been making preparations for weeks, started the ruse even before the test was conclusive, and today was the day to finally do it. To bring Harry in on his plan. To turn him into  _ Corvus _ . And hope the child didn’t regret it.

After taking the boy from Greece, Severus had cut into the child’s face and created several deep and fresh cuts which would scar, replicating the pattern of an exploding cauldron and neatly hiding a lightning shape in the wounds. The child felt no pain so Severus felt no guilt. He worked carefully, knowing he would need to replicate the marks on Harry when the time came. He had then done some careful transfiguration to make the boy the desired height, weight, and build of Harry, changed the set of his jaw a bit, changed his hair and eye color, and dressed him in black school robes. He couldn’t make too many changes, or Harry would look obviously uncomfortable in his own skin. The changes also couldn’t be too far from Severus’ own build. He had to keep the traits he shared with James Potter - how he loathed to look anything like the man - and give slight changes to the features which differed. Severus had been careful to memorize all the changes he made, as he would need to do the same to Harry and he wouldn’t have the benefit of several hours trying to get it right.

He carried the boy carefully up the school steps, ignoring the gaping students lounging about after their classes, and deposited the body gently on a hospital wing bed. “Oh my!” Pomphrey stated as she bustled over. “Severus, who is this?”

“I told the staff a few days ago I would be bringing my son to the school, did I not?” Severus said, adopting his familiar sneer. “Or did you think I would leave my heir in some second-rate school when I found he existed? The travesty of a school he was in didn’t even have the sense to add protections from potions accidents, so he is only a bit early in joining us.”

The nurse felt the child’s forehead and did a quick check of his vitals with her wand - which showed normal, thanks to the spells helping the boy stay alive. “Do you know what potion?” she asked.

“An improperly brewed aging potion,” Severus said, rolling his eyes. “What they were doing teaching that to fourth years, I’ll never know. It wasn’t at the stage to do any damage beyond the scarring, thankfully.”

“Yes, such a tragedy,” she said, looking at the boy’s face. “If it was an aging potion, those marks will never fade. They might be spelled to somewhere less conspicuous by a skilled dermatolo-witch, but such procedures are costly and risky still, even with the advances we’ve had in medical magic recently. Properly brewed it could have been removed, though.”

“He doesn’t have to look pretty,” Severus said, internally rolling his eyes at her disappointed tone. “He’ll live, and that’s enough.”

“I could-”

“I’d rather you leave him be until he wakes up,” Severus said. “He’s going to be a right spitfire when that happens and it’ll be good for him to have something to be angry about.”

Pomphrey huffed. “If you say so, Severus,” she said.

“Rest will do him more good than pampering,” Severus sneered. “You’ll need to do a full work-up on him anyways, since the school didn’t keep their records properly organized, and you’ll need him awake for that. Now go and do your rounds before I take my son down to our rooms.”

The nurse still looked skeptical, but finally sighed and left to do her normal checks. While she typically stayed in the Hospital Wing, currently the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were having a practice Quidditch match and she liked to check on all of the downed players at the stadium if there was someone to relieve her, as well as check on students who had recently left the wing. Severus had worked hard to make sure his timing was perfect and she would have no one in the Infirmary to tend while he worked. She had even asked him last week to watch the Infirmary during this time, so he didn’t need need to try and lead her into the suggestion.

Once she was gone he let out a brusque: “Get out here, Potter.”

Harry shuffled out from his quarantined area as Severus put an alarm on the door to warn him of any approaching students. “Who is that?” Harry asked.

“Your replacement,” Severus said quickly. “Get undressed.” He had already started working on undressing the boy on the bed.

“My replacement?” 

“Are you always this slow? It was your idea to be my son, was it not?”

A mix of emotions spilled across Potter’s face, making Severus wonder if they had truly succeeded in their study of occlumency at all, before settling on some unnamed emotion halfway between joy, wonder, fear, and confusion.

“Move, Potter, before some student decides to pop in for a pepper-up!”

The boy was undressing in a flash now, his hospital pajamas landing on the floor in pile as he stripped to his underwear before pulling on the robes Severus gave him. “How am I going to look like that?” he asked.

“I did some calculations and this should be how you look without the influence of James Potter’s blood. It should be easy enough to coax your body towards this look naturally, but until then you’ll have to settle for some transfigurement.” Eventually he would give the boy the potion. Later still he might tell the boy he hadn’t actually removed James Potter’s blood from his genetics. For the moment he took a bit of pleasure in the thought of turning Harry completely into his son.

“But-”

“Not now,” Severus hissed. “No time.”

“Right. Sorry. Go ahead.”

Severus made quick work of transfiguring Harry to match the nameless boy, and then only gave a brief warning that it would hurt before matching the two scars. Once he was certain they were identical, he took a vial from his robe pocket and rubbed the contents into the fresh wounds.

“Ow,” Harry complained. “What’s that?”

“Misbrewed aging potion,” Severus said.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh.” To match the story he’d told the nurse. Harry never would have thought to go that far, but Severus hadn’t even considered leaving it off.

Now that Harry looked like the boy, Severus plucked a few strands of Harry’s hair and dropped them into a familiar potion. Harry scrunched up his nose. “He’s not going to have to drink a lot of that, is he?” he asked. “I think people will notice if I keep giving you hair.”

“He won’t need to take it long - just long enough for the two of you to be seen together,” Severus assured. Once the boy died the magic would fade, but his body would not have enough natural magic to once again bear any resemblance to Severus’ son. He would look like Harry Potter until his body no longer looked human. “Now drink this for the pain, and this to remove the symptoms of Dragon Pox.” He handed over two small vials. One would remove the symptoms of the Dragon Pox as Severus had stated, and the other was a mild pain reliever Severus had laced with sleeping draught. The final change - a slight variation on the boy’s vocal cords to make him sound younger and less like Harry Potter - would not be comfortable, and would be permanent.

“It’s not that bad-” Harry started, glancing at the two vials.

“Drink them, or I will shove them down your throat. We haven’t time for this nonsense.” 

Startled into action, Harry obeyed.

The pain reliever worked immediately, so Severus made a few small adjustments to his vocal cords which Harry would barely notice. “We need to move quickly,” he said, turning to the boy who would look like Harry Potter. He carefully poured a few drops of potion into the boy’s mouth, and then a few more, until he was completely ‘Harry Potter.’ “That should last.” He added a few drops of Dragon Pox before he hovered the body into Harry’s quarantined bed, then plucked the glasses off Harry’s nose and put them on the bedside table of the boy who would be Harry Potter.

“Hey!” Harry protested, then absently rubbed at his throat. He’d sounded a bit hoarse.

“You won’t need them shortly, and you’ll look too much like Potter with them. We can’t make too many changes to your body structure. I have a potion down in my office to make the necessary corrections to your eyes. Just pretend to sleep until I get you down there.”

“Pretend to-” Again, he was rubbing at his throat as he spoke.

“Get in the bed, Potter! Now!” Snape hissed as the alarm ward started sounding in his ears. He canceled it and Harry settled on the bed just as Draco Malfoy came walking in.

“Uncle Sev?” he asked, knocking on the doorframe. “You here?”

“Over here,” Severus said, tucking a blanket around Harry. Finally - finally! - the sleeping draught started working and he noticed Harry’s eyes getting heavy. He did another small alteration to the boy’s throat - he didn’t want his son sounding so raspy all the time - and a check to make sure the boy was healthy. The scan came back negative for Dragon Pox.

“Who’s that?”

Severus hesitated. “His name is Corvus,” he said. “He’ll be transferring to Hogwarts.”

“Oh. Your son, right? The one Dumbledore announced would be coming this week?” Severus nodded to the boy’s inquiry, but Draco seemed distracted. “I wanted to talk, and since I saw the Nurse was out on the field I thought you’d be in here. Potter’s not listening, is he?”

“There’s a privacy ward set up around the quarantined bed so he can rest. He shouldn’t hear anything quietly spoken outside the curtains, though he would notice yelling,” Severus assured. Draco didn’t ask if Corvus could hear, but Severus doubted he could.

Draco sat on one of the empty beds next to Severus. “Father said to follow Umbridge-”

“Professor Umbridge,” Severus corrected automatically.

“-but now she’s gone and I don’t know if I’m supposed to keep telling him stuff and watching for things or not. I mean, most of her rules are still in place but no one follows them any more and I don’t think he really wants to know about my classmates, and all the other teachers are still the same ones we’ve had for years, except the centaur, and I don’t take that class. The only really odd thing is that they served duck alongside pork for Halloween, and he doesn’t really want to know that does he?”

“I doubt your father would see that as relevant.” It seemed like Lucius hadn’t taken his advice to talk to Draco, though Severus had almost expected that from everything which had happened recently. There just hadn’t been time.

“So how do I tell what is relevant?”

“Did your father tell you what types of things to look for?” Severus asked, unwilling to tell Draco to stop now that the actual danger was gone. “Behaviors, items, artifacts…”

“He  _ did _ mention a blood quill,” Draco admitted. “The papers mentioned Umbridge was using one on students, but I’m not sure I know how to tell if someone’s got one or not.”

“Blood quills look like normal quills,” Severus said, nodding. “They use the writer’s blood as ink, and were considered quite useful for signing magical contracts several hundred years ago. They fell out of use because they are difficult to distinguish from normal quills and witches and wizards suffered from extreme blood loss after excessive use. That was before the blood replenishing potion was invented and before Healers determined how quickly a body could replenish blood naturally. To protect the hospitals from having a bunch of dunderheads show up needing bed rest and constant care, owning one was deemed taboo by the medical community. They aren’t strictly considered dark magic, but they are now illegal to use. To use one on another person without their knowledge would send someone to Azkaban for months, and it is forbidden to force another to use a blood quill. To even to own one is considered very distasteful by the majority of the community, though it is not illegal to simply own one, and they were last used with special permission from the ministry only in foreign affairs twenty years ago.”

* * *

Harry, still trying to listen even if the pain reliever made him drowsy, realized suddenly why Snape wanted that defense against the dark arts position. He sounded interested, not just frustrated. And he was  _ explaining _ .

Then again, with Neville’s potion blowing up every other class it was no wonder Snape hated teaching potions.

Harry lost track of the time, and the conversation, as he drifted in and out of a light doze. He hoped Snape would tell him the details of his “past” later as he certainly wasn't paying attention now. Malfoy was still prattling on - he'd switched to talking about potions and complaining about Pansy - and Snape had made no move to leave even though it must have been hours. Every now and then he knew Snape got up to check on the other boy (probably to give him more polyjuice), and a few times other students had stopped by for headache remedies (mostly Ravenclaws - there was an exam the next day and the non-quidditch players were all trying to cram in an extra hour or three of study time). 

Once Hermione had stopped by and sat by Harry’s bed and held the not-Harry’s hand, but left with a huff when Malfoy started talking about how her little star-crush was only to get her name in the papers. When the nurse had returned she'd checked Harry (the real Harry) over briefly, huffed over some minor slight about Snape medicating him without her knowledge - and without a check-up - and went to check on the other “Harry.” She seemed satisfied with what she saw and scurried away when the Not-Harry breathed out a small flame in his sleep.

Now, though, something was happening and Harry was struggling to wake up and know what it was. There were a lot of people around the quarantined bed, Snape included, and there was a good deal of shouting going on. Only Malfoy was still by his bed, and he seemed focused on the Not-Harry behind the curtains as well.

Harry tried to keep his eyes open, fluttering them in panic and moaning when he realized Snape must have drugged him with more than just pain reliever. “Easy,” Malfoy said, turning his attention to Harry when the sound startled him. “You should rest. They're just kicking up a lot of fuss over there for nothing, I'm sure. The one in that bed is a huge attention-whore.”

If Snape had heard Harry make such a comment he was sure Gryffindor would have lost at least 50 points. As it was he found himself struggling to sit up and mostly failing.

“Professor Snape,” Malfoy called out, “all the fuss is bothering Corvus. Can I take him down to the common room?”

Snape glanced over his shoulder at them and nodded. “He doesn't need exposed to this, Poppy,” he said at the other woman's glare. “Potter could infect him and then you'll have to take extra precautions.”

“Sounds like Potter’s going to infect the whole school,” Malfoy muttered as he helped Harry to stand. Unfortunately Harry's legs didn't agree with the notion and he nearly toppled the both of them. A quick featherlight from the Headmaster - who glanced at them with an amused twinkle in his eyes - allowed Malfoy to lift Harry easily.

“Wand,” Harry managed to force out.

“Don't worry, Professor Snape will bring it down when he's done. Right now there's a bunch of Slytherins who are going to be very interested in meeting you.”

Harry wasn't all that interested in meeting them, to be honest, but it seemed he was to have little choice in the matter. His scar burned lightly and he saw Snape flinch. He silently cursed Voldemort’s timing while erecting the best mental barrier he could. With the thought that the Harry on the other bed was in pain and very sick, he took everything in his mind belonging to ‘Harry Potter’ and shut it in a mental cupboard under the stairs. He couldn't be Harry right now. He had to play Snape’s son. Shoving all his memories away he let his head rest on Malfoy's shoulder and closed his eyes.

It seemed like he barely shut his eyes when he heard someone asking: “Who's this, Draco?”

“I'll explain when we get in the common room,” Malfoy said. “Can you get the door? I don't think he's awake enough to manage standing on his own.”

The next thing Harry knew he was laying on a couch and blinking blearily up at his classmate. He thought the potion was wearing off a bit; his mouth tasted like cotton and a headache was pushing forward. “You okay?” Malfoy asked, rearranging a blanket over him. Or Harry guessed that's what it was - he didn't know of anything else so soft and large and green. When he had laid down and had a blanket placed over him, however, was a mystery.

“What happened?” Harry asked, grateful the words came out sounding almost like actual words.

“I'm not quite sure why you were in the hospital wing here,” Malfoy admitted. “I think you had a potions accident.”

Harry scowled. “I meant to the other boy.” His voice was sounding dry and ragged and Harry couldn't help but wonder if that was a result of fighting the sleeping potion. It was entirely possible it had been an  _ intended  _ result.

“Oh,” Malfoy said, on slightly more familiar ground. “That was Potter. He's been sick with dragon pox for a bit. Don't know why he didn't get vaccinated. Even muggleborns get their potions when they start attending classes.”

Harry hadn't, but he kept his mouth shut. That could be why he had a stronger than expected reaction to the potion Snape had given him. Speaking of: “Where's Snape?”

Malfoy frowned. “You shouldn't call your father that, Corvus. He's-”

“He's not my father,” Harry snapped, angry at being drugged and confused. What had happened to the other boy? He hadn’t wanted for anyone else to get hurt! “Hasn't been for years. He  _ drugged _ me. Where is he?”

“That sleeping potion was for your own good,” came a familiar drawl. “It was also mild - too mild if you're already this awake. It’s only been a few hours.”

Harry glared at the professor he could barely see. He couldn't believe Snape had just switched him with another boy and then doused him with sleeping potion without explaining anything! How was he supposed to keep any sort of cover up like that? What's more, he wasn't even sure he  _ wanted  _ to anymore.

And he knew Voldemort had called for Snape. Why was the man still here? Or had he left and come back again? ‘A few hours’ was too vague; just how long had he been  _ out _ ?

“Where's my wand?” Harry asked. “I'm going home.” The other boy surely wouldn't want to play Harry Potter for long - not when Voldemort started planning to kill him again.

“You'll stay here in Hogwarts,” Snape countered. “Draco, he's not in any shape to be with friends right now. He's in pain, and I think the potion is wrecking his eyesight at the moment. Could you show him to my rooms and let him sleep?”

“I don't need a keeper,” Harry grumbled.

“You're a fourteen year old child who got blasted by a misbrewed potion. You'll be watched over until we're reasonably certain you aren't going to suddenly drop dead,” Snape said in that annoying casual drawl which meant he found your protests amusing.

“But-”

“No, Corvus. It will either be Draco or myself, but you will go to my rooms now and Draco will watch over you from there. I have matters to attend to urgently, so I cannot stay long.”

Harry fumed. “Fine. I'll go with you.”

Snape nodded and walked around the couch to pick him up, blanket and all. “I can walk!” Harry protested.

“We haven't the time for you to stumble to my rooms,” Snape stated in a no-nonsense tone. He was already sweeping away, the young Malfoy at his heels. “I've arranged for you to have a private sorting in a few days, giving us time to get you a new wand and more appropriate school things.”

“A new wand?” Harry asked, face falling. “But my wand - “

“Was destroyed when the cauldron blew. My only solace is that it was not  _ your _ cauldron, though I hope you soon learn to dodge the mistakes of fools. Your best solution is to take cover.”

Harry ground his teeth together, his hands making fists within the confines of the blanket.

“I will explain more later,” Snape said in a soft voice close to Harry's ear. Malfoy was close, but he doubted the other boy could hear the professor. “Be angry with me, that's fine, but don't give too many details.”

Harry turned his head away. He was angry, and he wasn't pretending either. He knew he'd asked Snape what it would be like to be his son, but Harry had never expected he man to switch Harry with another boy. “What happened to him?” Harry finally asked. “The other boy in the hospital wing? Potter?”

“He's dying,” Snape said.

Harry paled, his jaw dropping in shock. “ _ What? _ ”

“Apparently Madame Pomfrey didn’t realize he never had his vaccinations. As a result his case of Dragon Pox took a rather unexpected downturn very quickly, even after it appeared he had recovered almost entirely. Madame Pomfrey has already floo’d Saint Mungos for more experienced healers, but it is not looking good. For the past two hours he’s been having seizures and fits, no matter what I spell down his throat. We think the fire may have settled in his head.”

“ _ I  _ haven't had any vaccinations,” Harry said softly, knowing Snape would understand. If they had accidentally let the boy die, then was he still at risk?

“I will remedy that as soon as possible,” Snape assured, “but you weren't exposed to anything dangerous in the hospital wing. Potter was quarantined.”

“Will his family be informed?” Harry asked, hoping Snape knew he meant the other boys family and not Harry's.

“I imagine so,” Snape said, “but that's not your concern. We are at my quarters.” He nodded his head to the stone beast carved as a relief into the castle wall. Harry thought it looked like some sort of horse with wings, but then it looked more like an eagle, and then a panther. Harry rubbed his eyes. “The chimera constantly changes shape, I'm afraid. It's rather annoying sometimes. Gobstones.”

It took Harry a moment to realize that was the password. Snape took him in and settled him on a couch in the sitting room. Malfoy sat in an armchair nearby. “Draco knows where the calming potion is, if you need it. No dreamless sleep. It reacts badly with the pain reliever I gave you earlier. I must go now. We'll talk when I get back.” In a rush, he left.

“I hope that wasn't too long,” Malfoy muttered.

Harry shifted. “What do you mean?”

“The person he's going to go see isn't patient. If you delayed him too long then your father’s bound to be punished for being late.”

“Then he shouldn't have come to see me,” Harry muttered darkly. “He should have just left me where he found me.”


	14. Chapter 14

“I'd like to sleep now,” Harry said suddenly. He knew Snape had (probably) never meant for this to happen, but now he was stuck in the rather awkward situation of being alone with Draco Malfoy, being confused half out of his mind, and not even knowing what his own name was supposed to be. They’d called him Corvus, but what kind of a name was that? He and Malfoy had been sitting in awkward silence for almost ten minutes, Harry guessed, after he’d declared Snape should have just let him be.

Malfoy eyed him suspiciously. “You were awfully rude to your own father, you know. Uncle Sev may not be the most pleasant, but he does have feelings.”

Harry rubbed at his eyes, cursing his poor sight and wanting to yell at Malfoy and insist that  _ no he didn't  _ because Harry was pretty sure Snape had just killed a child (maybe). He didn't understand, so how could Malfoy? “I just met him, my head hurts, I have no idea what's going on, and I just want to  _ sleep _ ,” Harry insisted. “ _ Please _ ,” he added for good measure. It didn't help that the constant rubbing of his eyes was making them water. He was embarrassed enough to actually wipe away a tear.

He couldn't see it, but Malfoy’s gaze softened. “Slide over,” he said, sitting next to Harry on the couch, turning sideways, and then pulling Harry into his arms. “There. I can't give you anything to help you sleep - Uncle Sev would kill me - but now you can pretend I'm one of the people who took care of you.”

Harry held back a sniff that felt too close to crying - darn his nose for getting itchy whenever his eyes watered! - and said without thinking, “They never held me like this.”

“You'd better get used to it, then,” Malfoy said. “Slytherins don't let other Slytherins suffer alone.”

Harry hesitated a moment, then said: “I’m going to sleep, but when I wake up somebody better tell me what a Slytherin is.”

He was beginning to wonder if he even knew the answer to that, and he’d spent four years at Hogwarts.

* * *

Severus was tired and aching. Knowing the two boys were still in his rooms he had stopped in his private lab long enough to have a mouthful of pain-relief potion. It did little more than dull the shaking in his hands, but it would have to do. He couldn’t afford to have more and let his defenses slip with Draco in the room.

Hopefully Corvus had decided to sleep, or at least pretend to. This transitional period would be the riskiest, since Corvus was only partially informed and could very easily slip in his role. Worse, Severus had been unable to teach him some of the basics which would set him the furthest apart from Harry Potter - if Corvus could manage it. 

Handwriting and mannerisms. Those were the two most dangerous traits right now. Harry was still establishing the character of ‘Corvus’ and might still react like ‘Harry’ instead. And handwriting... the easiest way to change that would be to allow Corvus to learn to write with his off hand, but that took time. Time they didn’t really have. He would need to set Corvus to writing essays and catching up in his classes as soon as possible, just to give him practice in writing in a different style.

A few breaths more and his face relaxed into a more normal expression, which was hard to keep when all he wanted to do was go and lie in a bed for eight hours straight. To distract himself for a few more moments, he considered another danger: Corvus’ natural scent. There was, to date, no way to fool a werewolf’s nose in wolf form. Lupin would no doubt be in attendance for the funeral, and it would be best if Corvus was as well for others to see him and ‘Harry’ in the same room. The wolf’s nose would smell Harry on the corpse and on Corvus, and there was no logical explanation he could give the animal. Black would be the same when he was in dog form, and knowing Dumbledore the mutt would be there to grieve.

Severus would have to, at some point in the near future, discuss the matter with Corvus. They would either need to bring the two in on his secret - a thought which made Severus’ head hurt like it might explode - or find a way to mask his scent.

The shakes had dulled to light tremors. Knowing he would not get any better without true rest and unwilling to leave the boys unattended any longer than necessary, Severus locked the private lab and began the trek to his - children? - once more hiding his thoughts behind strong shields and thinking of Corvus as nothing but his son, and Harry only as the boy in the hospital wing.

“Severus,” Albus said, startling the potions’ master. The Headmaster was coming from the direction of Severus’ private rooms, and Severus shook himself. He’d been walking blindly and hadn’t noticed the man coming towards him.

“Headmaster,” Severus greeted with little enthusiasm.

“I see you’ve faced a trying master again tonight, Severus,” the older man said sadly. “Was it at least a productive night?”

Severus kept his breath even as he tried to think. “There was no new information shared. The Dark Lord is aware Potter is ill, and was not pleased when I brought news the boy is on the verge of death. He hopes to deal the final blow himself.” Translation: Severus had been cursed for not seeing the signs of failing health, despite the fact that he was only trained in Minor Healing (and certainly not Pediatric Healing, heavens forbid!).

“That task has been taken from him,” Albus said, for once looking as old as he really was. “I’m afraid Harry died, shortly after you left the castle. There wasn’t enough time for the specialists at Saint Mungo’s to heal him.”

Severus closed his eyes in pain and tried to think. Too many pain curses made him feel cold and lightheaded, and it took a moment for the floor to steady beneath his feet. He had known the spells keeping the boy alive would end once Severus was too far away to maintain them, and had spelled enough polyjuice in the boy to last. But that thought was hidden behind shields and getting buried deeper by the minute under grief that Lily’s child had died. Severus tried to focus. “The Dark Lord will not be pleased. He asked me to try and keep the boy alive for him. He was going to take great pleasure in Potter’s demise.”

The Headmaster shook his head. “Perhaps it is a blessing Harry did not have to suffer such a fate. I always feared we put too much of a burden on him.”

“What caused his sudden downturn?” Severus asked. When Albus looked at him skeptically, Severus put up a privacy bubble - just because they were alone in the corridor didn’t mean no one was listening - and reminded the Headmaster: “I  _ swore _ to protect him, however much I despised his father. If Lily had asked, I would have vowed it. If I missed something - if I am to blame - “

“You did as expected, Severus. We all missed the signs, because it was exactly what we expected to see.”

“You speak in riddles, old man,” Severus said, his temper short. “I - am not prepared to deal with such maneuverings tonight.” It was the honest truth.

Albus nodded sadly. “I am sorry, I do not mean to,” he said. “We missed the signs that he had contracted a bad case of Dragon Pox because that is exactly the situation we were trying to present. No one looked close enough at the ruse to realize it was not a ruse. And because we did not treat him properly, thinking the illness contrived, the illness flared and his body could no longer sustain itself.”

“He complained the first day of being tired,” Severus sighed. “I thought him merely bored and uncooperative. I never imagined he was truly ill.”

“You are not to blame, Severus. If nothing else, remember that.”

Severus closed his eyes for a moment, regaining his balance, and asked: “What are you doing down in the dungeons tonight? Nothing has happened to my son, has it?”

“No, no,” Albus reassured. “I just went to check on the boys, and found them both sleeping in your quarters. I did not wish to disturb them, so I did a quick scan for Dragon Pox and let them sleep. Seeing as they were both in the infirmary when Harry took such a bad turn, I felt the precaution was necessary. They both came back with clear results - no infections at all, and healthy aside from the unfortunate injury to your son’s face.”

“There was no other abnormalities with his results?” Severus asked, giving the Headmaster a close look. If he had noticed any of the spells on Corvus, he would most likely start probing immediately.

“No,” Albus said, shaking his head. “Did you expect something?”

“He seemed to be speaking very hoarsely earlier, and his eyesight seemed impaired. I had hoped it was a temporary effect of the accident. Perhaps it has already faded.”

Albus nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Perhaps the smoke from the exploding cauldron got into his eyes and throat, though it’s unusual for the effects to last this long. I imagine he was quite frightened at the time, and focused on breathing and seeing his way to safety. Those are natural reactions, after all. He has spent most of his time since asleep, and that could also be a contributing factor.”

Severus gave a small sound of agreement. “I should see to him myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Albus said. “Minerva has agreed to take over your rounds tonight, so you have until tomorrow morning to rest. Simply send me notice if there is a need to cancel your classes for tomorrow. Given the circumstances, it may be for the best. I will need to announce the news of Harry’s death at breakfast, so I doubt the students will be interested in their courses. I may just cancel them all tomorrow.”

“If nothing else, we will be there for the meal,” Severus said. “Corvus is still growing; he will need the nutrition.”

Albus smiled. “Perhaps not all is lost,” he said. “I will see you in the morning, Severus.”

Severus shook himself as the Headmaster left, wondering just what in the world  _ that _ statement meant.

* * *

“I confess this is not the sight I expected to return to,” Severus said as he stepped into his rooms. His godson, Draco, was lying across the couch and dozing with his new-found son - because he must never refer to him as Harry again, ever - across his chest and sleeping soundly. “Since when do you allow yourself to be a giant cuddle bear?” he asked as he sat in the armchair, doing his best to hide his stiffness.

Draco's hand was in Corvus’ hair. “He was upset,” was the simple answer. “How old did you say he was?”

“Fourteen.”

“He seems so much younger.”

“He was shielded from the war,” Severus answered, watching them both carefully. “And from most of the pains of growing up in the aftermath of one. Still, he will actually be the youngest of the fourth years, no matter his house. His birthday is August 31st.” Since letters needed to be received by September 1st, Hogwarts had established August 30th as the cut-off date for sending out owls. Anyone born August 31st or after would have to wait until the next year to enroll.

“He's practically still 13!” Draco protested.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Which shouldn't be a problem, since he's still  _ actually  _ fourteen. You’d only been fourteen for two months when you started your fourth year. What difference is it that he was only fourteen for a day?”

Draco opened his mouth and then shut it, unable to articulate his answer.

Severus didn’t have the energy to wait for his godson to make an argument. “It's getting late, Draco. Professor McGonagall will not be pleased if you are out after curfew, and I cannot leave my son alone to escort you back to the dorms.”

Draco glanced at the clock on the mantle, and then at the boy in his arms. “Couldn't I stay the night?” he asked. “Just this once?”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” Draco said. “Can't I just want to comfort another Slytherin?”

Snape sighed. “Just for tonight, you can stay. But I can't transfigure the couch into a bed for you. The couch would be more comfortable than if I tried.” Transfiguration was not his best subject, and after all the human transfiguration he had done earlier in the day he simply was not up to doing more.

“That's fine,” Draco answered, letting his head rest against the arm of the couch. “We're comfortable.”

Snape shook his head and covered them both with the afghan he had draped over the back of the couch. “You should have asked the Headmaster to transfigure it for you while he was here. He’s better at it than I am.” Severus usually ended up with a lumpy mattress.

“The Headmaster was here?” Draco asked, frowning. “When?”

Severus frowned. “Nevermind. I saw him outside and thought he said he had visited you, but I must have been wrong.”

Draco only looked half-convinced, but Severus ignored the not-quite-believing look to rub his hand through Corvus’ hair. “May your dreams be sweet and the nightmares never touch you,” he said, placing a hand on Draco's head as well.

“Uncle Sev!” Draco quietly whined. “We're not five anymore!”

Severus frowned. “No, you're not. Take care of him, Draco.”

“Of course. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”


	15. Chapter 15

Harry woke slowly, half drifting in a dream where he was held close and warm in an embrace. He eventually realized it wasn't a dream - he really was being held in the arms of Draco Malfoy still, though curfew must have long since passed. If it had been Hermione or Ron - or any of the Weasleys - he might have shrugged it off and gone back to sleep. But this was  _ Malfoy _ . He was Harry’s rival (at best) and tormentor (always). Above everything else, Malfoy was the worst part of being at school. He reminded Harry of Dudley and was a daily reminder of all the reasons why his own family hated him. But now Harry had a new family... sort of.

Harry tried to think, though he was still sleepy and it was hard to focus. He had to remember to keep everything that was “Harry” locked away until it was safe to bring it out. If someone did read his mind, he couldn’t let them find the cupboard. That was hard, though. What else did he have to think of? He didn’t even know his own name anymore! Sure, he didn’t have to go to his relatives or face detentions with Umbridge, but he also didn’t have any friends - or a wand. Snape had said his was gone, which meant he couldn’t use his old one anymore. He guessed his clothes were off limits as well, and everything in his trunk in Gryffindor tower.

His father’s cloak. The photo album from Hagrid. Hedwig. Hell, even his  _ underwear _ .

Snape had faked his death, so he couldn’t even write to his old friends anymore. But  _ his _ death - whoever he was supposed to be - hadn’t been faked, so shouldn’t he still have friends to write to? And what about the boy Snape had taken to the infirmary? Was he really dead, or had Snape somehow managed to “put a stopper in death” as he had claimed potions could do in Harry’s first year?

Harry couldn’t  _ stop _ thinking about his life as Harry Potter. This plan was doomed from the start because without “Harry” he was nothing. He was even failing at the one and only thing he was supposed to do -  _ not think _ !

“Corvus?” Malfoy asked, shifting beneath him. Harry wondered briefly if that was his name before the blonde asked with an edge of panic in his voice: “Corvus! What’s wrong?”

They were sitting up now, but Harry could only shake his head. He could feel the tears that must have woken Malfoy up, but he didn’t know what to say to explain them. He couldn’t exactly tell the other boy what was wrong; Malfoy would think he was crazy.  _ Harry _ thought he was crazy.

He could go to his friends. He could explain to them what had happened and leave Snape. They’d believe him. Dumbledore could remove the spells, if he knew they were there.

But Snape had done this because Harry had asked him to. Harry had  _ asked _ Snape to make Harry his son, and Snape had done it. But he hadn’t expected  _ this _ . This was so big Harry couldn’t help failing. He’d thought about being Harry one day and Snape’s son the next and then being Harry again to talk to his friends, maybe even be both at the same time or writing to them while he was still Snape’s son -

“Draco? Corvus?” Snape asked, walking in from another room. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong!” Malfoy said, his hands firm on Harry’s shoulders and looking half hysterical. “He woke up crying!”

“Easy, Draco,” Snape said, sitting on the couch and pulling Harry into his lap. Harry froze only briefly before Snape managed to pull him along. For a moment Harry suspected polyjuice. There was no other explanation for why Snape suddenly seemed to care. Then he remembered: Snape was playing Harry’s father and Draco was in the room. To act otherwise would look suspicious to the other student. 

“You must remember that he’s been through quite a shock,” Snape said as he wrapped Harry in an embrace. “His grandparents only recently died, he had an accident with a potion, and he’s been uprooted to a new school. These may seem minor to you because you grew up here, where the first war affected us greatly, but Corvus’ grandparents were extreme pacifists and distanced themselves from the war. He was too young when his mother died to really be aware of it and they shielded him greatly from the conflict.”

Harry buried his face in the older man’s robes, turning his gaze away from Malfoy. He hated that he couldn’t see, and hated more that he couldn’t seem to stop  _ crying _ . He’d never been such a crybaby before. He’d never been held like a baby before either, and was still half-wondering if this was some bizarre dream. Even if it was, it felt... nice.

“It’s time for you to go, Draco,” Snape said as he rubbed Harry’s back. “Corvus will be better prepared for social interaction when he’s not in the middle of grieving.”

Malfoy didn’t answer right away, and Harry wondered if he would protest, but eventually Harry heard him stand. “Ok, Uncle Sev,” he finally said, then: “I’ll see you later, Corvus.”

Harry didn’t think he’d ever heard his own name so many times in one conversation, and it wasn’t even his own name! Blearily, he nodded against Snape’s chest and waited for the door to open and close behind the blonde. He started to pull away, but Snape tightened his arms and kept him close. “I was not lying,” Snape told him. “It is okay to grieve for the life you lost - for the life of Harry Potter.”

“I can’t go back now, can I?” Harry asked, though in his mind he knew he could tell his friends, someday - probably any day he wanted - and they’d understand. Maybe they’d complain a bit, but they’d listen. Maybe he’d tell them when they graduated and Harry wasn’t flaunted as the ‘Chosen One’ anymore. Or tomorrow. Or after lunch. If he got to see them. If Snape wouldn’t let him, he’d just have to sneak out. “I can’t have anything from before? Not even my wand? Or the pictures of my parents?”

“That path is closed to you now,” Snape said. “This summer, when you come home with me, I’ll see about getting you some things to help remember your old life. I do have some pictures of Lily I could copy for you, and even the wolf was a brief friend. I might have a few photos left.”

“What- what about Hedwig?”

“She will recognize you, of course. Owls can see beyond the physical appearance of a person. But she will likely go to one of your friends, or to your relatives.”

Harry seized Snape’s robes in panic. “She can’t!” he said. “You can’t let  _ any _ of it go to my aunt and uncle. They- they’ll burn it. Kill her.” He’d go to them after  _ breakfast _ -! “Shhhh,” Snape soothed, running a hand through Harry’s hair. “I’ll see to it. Tell me what’s got you upset this morning? Surely it wasn’t  _ that _ bad waking up to Draco. You fell asleep with him.”

Harry huffed. “If anything it felt  _ too _ good,” Harry answered, realizing with a little amusement that Snape was rocking him slightly. He was too big to be  _ rocked _ . “But I just - I don’t - what’s my  _ name _ ?”

“Feeling unsettled because you don’t know enough about yourself, then?” Snape asked. “If you are calm enough, I can rectify that while we repair your eyes. We will need to apply the potion before you venture out into the castle too much, and you need to be seen. I had hoped to do so last night, but was called away.”

Harry nodded his head. “I’m calm,” he said, sniffing a bit to clear his nose. “You don’t have to keep holding me. I’m not a baby.”

Snape chuckled a bit at that, which was strange. Harry had never heard him laugh before, even this small bit of laughter. Once again, the thought of polyjuice surfaced, but the interactions were reminding him (a bit) of how his aunt treated Dudley when he was sick. Just toned down to Snape-style? Maybe? Or it was just strange. It was always sneers and smirks and eye rolls before. Snape shifted Harry to sit on the couch and stood to retrieve the potion. “Even adults need comfort sometimes, child. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said.

“You don’t,” Harry countered.

“I have my own means of finding comfort,” Snape answered. “Your name, as that seemed to be of concern to you, is Corvus Antoine Galahad Hadrian Prince Snape.”

“That’s a lot of names,” Harry said, scrunching his nose.

“I realize that, but wizarding names are traditionally long. Feel lucky I only gave you six. Draco has ten, and many of your peers will have anywhere from five to twelve. Most will not know your full name; only those you trust should be given all of your names. Albus is the only one daring enough to announce his freely, though I doubt they are all of his names. At school and to those you’ve only just met, it is safe to simply introduce yourself as Corvus Snape. Corvus Antoine Snape, if you must provide one of your other names. We’ll work on memorizing it later. Lay down now.”

Harry did so, and Snape summoned a pillow from his bedroom to settle under his head. “Keep your eyes open,” Snape said as he knelt beside Harry with a wooden box. “When I finish applying the potion, I will close the lid of the eye and apply a gauze and tape to keep it shut. Then I will work on the other eye. You’ll need to keep them closed for an hour, so it’s best to rest and try to relax. I will tell you of your past until you doze off, however you may ask questions if something is confusing to you. It is important we get this right, or others will suspect something is wrong with our story.”

“Aren’t minor changes normal?” Harry asked. “I mean, I know sometimes I remember something one way and then Hermione says it happened different.”

“Different _ ly _ , Corvus, and yes. But the major details we must get right. I’ll do the left eye first. Are you ready?”

Harry nodded his head slightly, eying the dropper as best he could.

“You were born 14 years ago on August 31st. You never received a Hogwarts letter previously, as you were out of the country when you turned 11. You lived with your grandparents, whom you can make as much like your previous guardians as you please. In fact, it is best we stick as close to the truth with your past as possible.” The drops were cool against his eye, but not painful. They felt like fresh tears. “It is easier to remember that way.”

“Then I lived with my grandfather, grandmother, and my cousin?” Harry asked.

Snape nodded. “That sounds reasonable. Your  _ older _ cousin. Remember, you are younger now.”

“Somewhere that still speaks English, but not in England,” Harry said slowly. “I can’t have too heavy of an accent either… does that mean America? But I still sound normal because my grandparents were English?”

Snape nodded and Harry almost thought he sensed a bit of pride in Snape’s voice when he confirmed it. Bizarre. “Yes. You went to school at the Salem Academy of Magic for the Muggle-raised, though most students typically call it SAMM. It is structured like a muggle school with muggle classes, so it won’t seem odd that you know muggle things. You will have to remember to be surprised at some of the foods, and ask for other foods the houselves may not know of.”

“I could ask for muggle food,” Harry said slowly, thinking of Big Macs and pizza. “If they were pacifists and hiding, it would make sense to hide with muggles, particularly if they didn’t like to use magic. And muggle food can be cheap. Because they weren’t rich, but they weren’t poor either. So I usually got my cousin’s hand-me-downs and we didn’t eat a lot of fancy food.”

“You ate good meals, three times a day, but didn’t often get sweets. The same will be true from this day forward.” Snape pushed down on Harry’s eyelid and closed the eye as he spoke. “If you think you can manage to ask for muggle foods, then this may actually work. I have already told Draco you were shielded from the war; that should make things easier for you. You have never heard the truth of Voldemort or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. To you they were only stories like fairy tales. You could even embellish your own version of your story to be the fairy tale you heard, if you desire, but best do it quick before the other students ask you for details.”

Harry almost nodded, but Snape’s hand on his face kept him still. “I - I don’t know if I could call you ‘dad’ just yet.”

“You will not be expected to,” Snape said, though Harry thought he had gone a bit stiff. He started dropping the potion into Harry’s other eye. “We have only just met, after all, and some resistance to the situation is expected. Especially after your performance last night. You will be expected to write to your cousin and your friends, and you can do so. The letters cannot be sent, naturally, but I can show you a trick to hide them in a journal. Burning them is safest, but sometimes - particularly early on - you may feel the need to have a break from what will feel like an act and remember who you used to be.”

“Won’t people wonder why I never get letters back?” Harry asked.

“Draw it out into a fight. The trick is to  _ expect _ letters back and never get them. That makes it more real. You must understand that you will be safest once you fully accept who you now are - when  _ Harry  _ becomes the act and  _ Corvus _ is you. There are things we will still need to work on, things which are very difficult to change but can give you away immediately, so until we do so you shouldn’t write anything or show much besides grief and curiosity. I will try to keep you from others as much as possible until you are ready, but it is important that you are seen.”

“Is that how you learned to spy?” Harry asked timidly. Another drop coated his eye, and Harry wondered if this eye was taking longer or just needed more potion.

“How do you know about that?” Snape asked.

Harry shrugged. “Guessed,” he said. “I know you’re part of the Order, but last year that professor from Drumstrang kept pestering you about his mark,” Harry said slowly. “I knew Dumbledore trusted you, but you always seemed, I don’t know,  _ mean _ . So Hermione looked it up. There’s court records of your trial, where Dumbledore provides a statement saying you were a spy.”

“And when did Miss Granger have time to request court documents?”

Harry tried to hold still. “Don’t know. I’ve been in the hospital wing, remember?”

The older man let out a deep breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. “Spying is acting on a very dangerous level,” Snape admitted. “When the Dark Lord looks at my mind the Severus who serves Headmaster Dumbledore doesn’t exist. You won’t need to act on such a level; neither the Dark Lord nor the Headmaster are interested in the services of a child. And I should caution you against digging into such matters until you’re an adult. Until you can use magic outside of school, there’s very little to protect you if you pursue something unsavory.”

Harry ignored the warning. Not pursuing his hunches could be just as damaging as pursuing them, and he was usually right about something being wrong. “I don’t know if I can remember all these details. Not if I’m getting pestered with a bunch of questions,” Harry admitted. It was a half lie. Harry  _ knew _ he couldn’t. But brave Gryffindors rose to face their fears, right? Still... “The Headmaster will ask, and so will my classmates. What if they start asking for details we haven’t covered or I don’t remember? One-on-one, if the questions are slow, I could probably manage not to fumble too much. But I don’t  _ like _ attention.”

“You certainly fooled me into thinking you did,” Snape said, closing Harry’s second eye. He felt the gauze covering his face and tried to pretend he’d only closed his eyes - that he wasn’t blind and without a wand in a room alone with a man who’d killed before and would likely kill again. He didn’t have a bad feeling about this, and he felt like he should. He felt like he should be protesting more. But he wasn’t. Severus was still talking. “Then again, I was hoping you were before. I saw defiance in you - it’s still there - but my judgement was poor as to the cause.”

“Can’t I just stay in your rooms for a while? Until I get the story straight?” Harry was almost afraid to stay with the man, alone. But he was more afraid of slipping up in front of the sons and daughters of death eaters and getting both him and the Potions Master killed. The conflicting emotions made his chest ache.

“Not for any length of time. It is important that you are seen out and about while Harry Potter’s corpse is still here, so you and he are no more connected than he and any other student. So you are seen next to him and obviously someone different. Someone else.”

Harry bit his lip, not quite sure he wanted to know, but mustered up the courage and finally asked: “Did you kill him?” His voice was quiet, barely a whisper, and Harry hated the quiver in it. It was somehow easier to ask when he couldn’t see Snape’s reaction, but that didn’t mean it was  _ easy _ . “The other boy?”

“Silly child, the boy was already dead,” Snape said. His hand gripped Harry’s firmly, as if he were comforting a friend who was ill. Harry wondered how far he’d already fallen into believing Harry was Corvus. He’d never seen Snape act like this before. With anyone. “The spells I put in place made his body seem alive for us to work the ruse, but he had died before I ever brought him to Hogwarts.”

Harry breathed out in a sigh. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disgusted. He was certainly grateful Snape hadn’t killed on his behalf, but he couldn’t believe he’d just sat and cried his eyes out in the lap of a man who’d carried a corpse in his arms.

“What are you thinking?”

“That I’m still very confused, but I don’t know what to ask.”

“Then rest,” Snape said, standing. “I’ll prepare some clothes for you so we can go to breakfast.”

“Wait!” Harry said as Snape’s hand started to slip away, grasping it tighter.

“Yes?” Snape asked when Harry didn’t immediately say anything else.

“Uh, I can’t see?”

“Of course not,” Snape said, and Harry could imagine him rolling his eyes. “If that potion had given you the power to see through objects I would be rich from the royalties of a new and useful potion for the Auror corps.”

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “What I meant was-” he cut himself off. What had he meant? He’d just told Snape he wasn’t a baby, was he really going to ask the man to stay after that? “Nevermind,” he said instead, turning his head away and dropping the man’s hand. The butterflies in his stomach had turned to rocks, and they were rolling over each other in his belly.

Something plush and oddly shaped was put in his arms, and Harry felt it for a few moments before asking incredulously: “Did you just give me a softie?”

“My son would have had many of them growing up. You should familiarize yourself with them,” Snape said with a hint of laughter. “Once you can see, you can pick out your favorite and hide him in the bottom of your trunk.”

“Why?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“So when others go snooping they think they’ve found your worst secret.”

“A softie?”

“Better they think you’re hiding insecurities than find you have deceived them in some other manner.”

“You’re mad.”

Snape huffed a bit. “I may be a bit unconventional, but I have survived for years as a spy based on my skills at deceiving others. Trust me, Corvus. If you make that softie your worst secret, the others will stop looking for more when they find it.”

“Does that mean…” Harry hesitated, not sure how to ask what he wanted to ask, then finally blurted out: “Does that mean you  _ want _ me to be a little crybaby?”

“Crybabies are not often asked to murder Dark Lords,” Snape replied, not quite answering. “I’ll go get ready. Lay down and rest for a bit longer.”

* * *

It had taken but a moment while speaking to Corvus to write the note. Two simple words, but the letter felt heavy in his pocket. 

It was too late to go back now. If he didn’t follow through people would always question, always wonder, always doubt. He had to believe, as much as he could, and bury the truth deep down. 

Severus had been surprised when Corvus - always, always Corvus - had woken up in tears. It played well for separating the two, but did not fit into the character Severus knew. He expected more of the defiance, more of the anger, and a temper tantrum or two. He had never expected Lily’s - Melody’s - child to react, well, like a child. Potter had always acted more like an angry, spoiled teenager than a young child.

He whistled for his raven, the most reliable bird he had for sending messages, and accepted it was likely shock which caused Corvus’ reaction. As much as it separated Potter and Corvus, it would not last. Severus would encourage it as much as he could, but his reactions were too different from what Corvus was expecting. Corvus might not be able to keep up the ruse constantly. He would need help.

Severus tied the note to the raven’s leg and scowled as he realized he had yet to talk to Corvus about the wolf. As much as he despised the wolf, Potter had confided in Lupin in the past. There was no way he could permit the two to visit during school.

Maybe they could send letters. Short letters. And Severus would check the wolf’s. Thoroughly.

Severus sent his raven flying to the Dark Lord from the cover of the Forbidden Forest. Albus wanted to keep Voldemort in the dark as long as possible, but that was not something Severus could do. It wasn’t part of the plan. In order for the switch to work, he needed the world to know. There were only a limited number of people he could inform, but the word would spread he was sure. So long as he did his part.

Ravens were smart birds and not often used for post. He was certain it would reach the Dark Lord without being intercepted. And even if it was, the message would make little sense.

There wasn't much to be interpreted from “He’s gone”.

He turned quickly back to the castle so he could make the short trip to his rooms. He knew a few shortcuts - courtesy of dodging the Marauders - which made the trek shorter than most believed. Corvus would be able to take the gauze off his eyes soon, and while Severus had faith the boy would stay asleep for the few minutes it took him to send the bird off he didn’t want to delay longer than necessary. It was possible the Headmaster had already inspected the boy without his knowledge; he didn’t want to risk them having a second encounter alone before Corvus was truly settled as  _ himself _ .

The trip back to his rooms seemed shorter than ever, and it took remembering Hogwarts’ wards to reassure Severus that he hadn’t accidentally apparated himself.

As if mocking him, the chimera sat before his rooms in the unchanging form of a wolf. “Yes, yes,” Severus said, rolling his eyes. “Remind me when I have time. Gobstones.” The relief opened, allowing Severus access.

He checked on Corvus first. Severus wasn’t sure if the stuffed animal play was too much of a surprise or too repulsive to the boy, but it had appeared as if Harry didn’t know what to do with the toy.

Corvus. His name was Corvus. The more he repeated it, the better he would remember. Corvus. His son. His only son. His true son.

Either Corvus had accepted the play or simply liked the reminder of his youth because he was sleeping on his side with the softie held tightly to his body. In his room were bears, dogs, cats - the usual fare for a semi-muggle raised son - and a few dragons. Severus had summoned one at random and it seemed his magic had chosen the lone bat of the selection, the body far out of proportion to reality with eyes too large and purple.

When the timer sounded Severus shook himself and silenced it, cursing himself for staring. With one hand he reached out and shook the boy awake, perhaps a little rougher than he intended since the boy flinched and pressed back into the couch cushions.

“Who’s there?”

Not rough, then; startled. “Just me,” Severus said. “We can begin removing the patches now. Depending on how damaged your eyes are, we may need to repeat the process again in a week.”

Corvus took several minutes to settle himself and process the words, the stuffed bat forgotten in one hand. “I won’t be able to see for a week?”

“You will be able to see, but the clarity of your vision will fade over the course of the week if there was too much damage for one dose to repair. We would need to repeat the drops until the degradation fades.”

“Oh.”

“Shall we see what the first dose has done?” Corvus nodded, so Severus began the task of removing the patches. “Once we are through with this, we will head to breakfast. You haven’t been sorted yet, and try to remember you don’t know any of the other students.”

“I don’t think I can,” Corvus said, not yet opening his eyes. “Forget I know them, I mean. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“No, it is a horrible idea,” Severus admitted. “But at the moment it is the most favorable of our options.”

“I look too much like me, like Harry Potter. Everyone’s going to know.”

“If they make the connection, play dumb. Even you can manage that much,” Severus responded, unable to keep the curtness from his voice. He bit his cheek to keep the insults at bay. This wasn’t Harry, this was  _ Corvus _ ; it would look strange to insult a son he’d just met.

It was easier to remember he was Corvus when he wasn’t talking about being Harry.

“We can explore other options later. As I said before, we have much to discuss. We also have a very short time to complete all the necessary tasks so if you could please stop dawdling and open your eyes?”

Slowly, one green eye peeked out from beneath an eyelid, then the other. Corvus blinked once, twice, three times and Severus couldn’t help but stare at the bright green reflection of his childhood best friend.

“I can see!” Corvus exclaimed, eyes jumping from object to object around the room. 

“I do believe that was the point,” Severus drawled, his voice flat. The boy was absolutely fascinated with the most common of magics. Sure, eye correction was expensive - but Severus was a potions master. It wasn’t like he had to buy the brew. Just the ingredients. Most of the expense was in the time and expertise. 

He stood. “To make things easier, I’ll have you sit with me at the professors’ table. It will also help curb some of the house rivalry nonsense once you’re sorted.” Honestly, the students should just accept that Slytherin was the best. Bravery, knowledge, hard work - it all meant nothing if they didn’t have any ambition.

Corvus stood with him, leaving the softie on the couch, though he took the time to look at it and prop it against the cushions. “Won’t I just go back to Gryffindor?” he asked. “Will the hat even resort me?”

“I have no idea,” Severus said with a bit of distaste. The magic of the sorting hat was tricky at the best of times. While there had been resortings in the past, there had also been cases where the hat refused to resort a student. The reasoning behind the differing decisions was shaky at best. Getting into that would only worry the child, though, so Severus simplified it as best he could: “Personalities can change as you grow; it’s possible the hat may find a different house suitable for you or it may insist your current house is correct and refuse to change the decision. If it refuses to sort you, simply tell it to state your current house. It will appear as if a sorting has occurred, and we will simply deal with the fallout.”

Corvus bit his lip, and Severus resisted the urge to tell him to stop. “Get dressed; we need to leave. We’re already late.”

He turned away with a mental sigh as Corvus took the clothes Severus had laid out and ducked behind the partial wall in the kitchen to change. So much had happened already, and he hadn’t even had a son for a full day.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry hovered back behind Snape as they entered the Great Hall from the staff entrance. His belly gave an uncomfortable twinge, reminding him that his last meal had been at lunchtime yesterday, just before the Quidditch match had started. Too much time had passed since he’d become Snape’s ‘son’, and at the same time too little.

He tried to remember what Snape had told him, chanting it silently as they walked. He’d gone to SAMM. He was left-handed. His grandparents had just died. Voldemort wasn’t real. Snape was his father. His name was Corvus. Keep his hands from his eyes, since he’d never had glasses. Was he forgetting something?

They had just entered the Great Hall behind Professor McGonagall when Headmaster Dumbledore turned to face them. “Ah, good morning Severus! This must be your son,” he greeted.

McGonagall smiled at him briefly before sitting down, her gaze curious but distracted, and Harry reminded himself his name was Corvus. And he was left-handed. Maybe he could eat finger food?

“Yes, Albus. This is Corvus. Corvus, this is Headmaster Dumbledore,” Snape responded, nudging Harry - Corvus, he had to think of himself as Corvus - until he gave a small greeting as well. Shy, and small, and not needing attention; Harry’s thoughts were so focused he almost created a small notice-me-not spell.

“We met briefly in the hospital wing, though you were probably too distracted at the time,” the Headmaster said with a smile. “Have you come to join your year mates for breakfast?”

“He has yet to be sorted, Headmaster. Sitting with students from one house may cause rifts with the house he is sorted into. You know how serious some students are about the house rivalry,” Snape said.

“Don't be silly, Severus,” the Headmaster said, waving off the concern. “I'm sure he'd much rather eat with his peers than with us old teachers.” He winked at Corvus. “Any house would welcome him with open arms.”

“I was hoping he could eat here until he was sorted.”

“I'm afraid we can't encourage such behavior,” the Headmaster said, shaking his head, and Harry felt his empty stomach twist. “The other students would see him as being privileged.”

“Pardon me,” came the polite voice of a professor Harry had never seen before. Once the man was certain he had the attention of all the staff in the immediate vicinity, he asked: “Might I inquire as to why there is a student here who has not been sorted? Hogwarts is not a school known to shelter runaways from other schools.”

“My son is not a runaway, Professor Castor,” Snape answered calmly. “You had not yet arrived when it was announced he would be transferring. Corvus has only recently suffered the loss of his grandparents, who were caring for him in America, and I retrieved him from a school which would benefit from a presence such as yours. You can see the recent damage from an accident in their classrooms.”

The professor smiled at Harry briefly, then turned his gaze to Snape. “It seems to me an injured student would be better suited to the hospital wing than the Great Hall.”

“The scars are lasting, I’m afraid, and as healed as they can be,” Snape countered. “He is only here for breakfast and the morning announcements. The Headmaster has agreed to have him sorted by the end of the week, though if this continues to be a problem I ask that he be sorted sooner. You are causing the boy unnecessary grief, headmaster.”

Harry stared at his shoes, wondering why he felt like someone was twisting a knife in his gut. The Headmaster wasn’t saying anything good, Snape was defending him, and the new professor was making him sound like a helpless child! He should be angry - would have been, if he’d still been Harry - but Snape had said it was okay for Corvus to act spoiled and behave like a child. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be seen as  _ weak _ , though. He wasn’t making a very good son, he just knew it. He didn’t even know how to act on his first day; the next week was going to be torture.

“I’m not hungry,” he said suddenly, interrupting the adults who had continued talking over his head. “Thanks anyways.”

Then he tore himself out of Snape’s arms and fled. Maybe Snape’s real son would be better.

* * *

“What do you think is going on up there?” Pansy asked as she slid into the seat next to Draco. “It doesn’t look friendly.”

“The new professor is Henry Castor,” Draco said after swallowing his bite of crepe. “Uncle Sev looks furious, and poor Corvus looks terrified.” As if saying so gave the boy permission to act on the emotion, Corvus fled from the room as if a grim were on his heels. “That’s not good,” Draco said as he watched his godfather make aborted, jerky motions and level a gaze of fury at Dumbledore’s back so intense that Draco was surprised the headmaster didn’t burst into flames.

“Whatever just happened, I bet it gets Gryffindor down to negative points by the end of the day,” Blaise said. “Maybe we should skip potions.”

“Only if you help me find Corvus before the Gryffindors make mincemeat out of him,” Draco said. “I don’t know if Uncle Sev will accept any other excuse right now.”

“He has a valid point,” Pansy commented. “I’d rather not give him any reason to even look at me until he’s not so furious.”

“Attention students,” Dumbledore said, his voice echoing through the Great Hall as he stood to address everyone present. “Your attention please. As I’m sure you have noticed, we have a new face at the professor’s table this evening. I would like to introduce Professor Castor, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for the rest of the year. I hope you will find his instruction enlightening.” Professor Castor stood and there was a smattering of applause from the students.

“That sounded cryptic,” Blaise muttered as he gave a polite clap.

“Yes, yes, welcome Professor Castor,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “As a second addition to our ranks, Professor Snape’s son has joined us a few days earlier than expected. I hope you will all do your best to make him feel welcome during these desperate times.

“Which brings me to the most heartbreaking announcement I have for you this morning. It is with great grief that I must announce Harry Potter’s illness took a turn for the worst this weekend. For the second year in a row, Hogwarts has felt the tragedy of the loss of a student’s life.”

This announcement sent the entire hall to whispering, even gaining a few wails from younger students. Draco looked over to see Weasley’s jaw hanging open in shock and Granger’s face full of tears. “Two thirds of the golden trio didn’t know the third was gone,” he said only just loud enough for his closest neighbors to hear. 

“They weren’t his family,” Pansy quietly whispered, but Draco could hear the doubt in her voice.

“You saying you wouldn’t know if I was dead?” Draco asked. “Wouldn’t notice I was unexpectedly gone from quarantine for hours, and never asked after me?”

“Then you think they were lied to?” Pansy asked.

“Either that or the golden trio wasn’t as golden as we thought,” Draco said. “Yesterday, when I went to see Uncle Sev while he was watching over the Infirmary, only Granger came to visit Potter. She came alone, and didn’t stay long. Potter obviously was doing worse than before, but she didn’t call the nurse.” Draco hadn’t either, but he’d had the opportunity to see the nurse check Potter over; Granger hadn’t.

“You don’t think-” Pansy started, but Draco shook his head. 

“Better not to guess,” Draco said. 

“Settle down, settle down,” Dumbledore’s voice sounded through the hall again. Gradually the students quieted, though sniffling and quiet sobs could still be heard. “I know this comes as a great shock to us all. Mister Potter was a wonderful student who was brought down by a magical disease. While we are certain his ailment was contained, we will be performing checks on all students to ensure you are all in good health.

“For those of you wishing to honor Mister Potter, we have arranged for an area where small tokens and well-wishes for his journey into the next life to be placed. A viewing room will be made available for those wishing to say goodbye. His funeral will be arranged by his caretakers, and will be a private affair. 

“I know Mister Potter was a friend to many of you. He would not want us to linger over his death. Today’s classes are cancelled to allow you the chance to grieve and to allow guest healers the chance to examine you, but tomorrow classes will resume and I should hope to see you all face them bravely. For Harry.”

The murmuring of voices started again as Dumbledore sat down, and Draco wasn’t surprised to see tear-streaked faces down the Gryffindor table. The twins looked like angry demons as they cried, while others hid their faces or clung to their classmates.

“Do you think he’s really dead?” Blaise asked, looking uneasy.

Draco looked around carefully at those grieving. Even many of the Slytherins looked uncomfortable with the news. “I think he’s going to be a hot topic whether he’s dead or not,” Draco said honestly, as quietly as he could. 

“But-”

“Not here,” Draco said. “We pass the news on, if Uncle Sev hasn’t done so already. I’m sure there are ways to know.”

“And in the meantime?”

“We find Corvus as soon as we’re dismissed. He’s going to around a lot of grieving students and he’ll have no idea why.”

* * *

“Hello,” came a light female voice. Harry turned from looking out the window to see Luna staring at him dreamily. She must be skipping breakfast, Harry realized, and she wasn’t wearing any shoes. “I think I know you.”

Harry let out a small, huffing laugh. If the students could tell he was Harry under Snape’s disguise, then the potions master hadn’t worked very hard at all at his changes. Then again he had said it was transfigurement, and by the professor’s own admission he wasn’t very good at it. “I don’t even know me right now,” Harry said. Was he Harry or Corvus? It was hard to tell. He wanted his friends back, but he didn’t want anyone to know he was related, however strangely and non-biologically, to Snape. He couldn’t have both, and Snape thought it was too late to turn back. He was Corvus. But he was also Harry.

“That’s silly,” Luna countered. “You are you. Only you can be you, the you that is true.”

Harry smiled at the silly rhyme. It reminded him of the stories his Aunt used to tell his cousin. “Is that supposed to be a riddle?”

Luna tilted her head to the side. “I don’t think so.”

“I like it.”

The blonde smiled. “Don’t worry, it won’t attract any more wrackspurts.”

“Thanks, I think.”

Luna stepped closer, looking at Harry curiously. “You were with Professor Snape earlier. Are you his son?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Harry answered honestly.

“I’m asking you, of course,” Luna said, blinking. “Those nargles must be confusing you, but don’t worry. They can’t speak to most people.”

“And what are nargles, really?” Harry asked. 

“Invisible creatures,” Luna said. “They usually infect mistletoe, but it seems they like the ivy around this window more than usual.”

Harry laughed lightly and shook his head. “Maybe they just like the view.”

“There you are, boy,” an unfamiliar voice said. 

Harry looked up into a strange face, finding an older man wearing auror robes and brandishing a wand. Without really thinking about it, he pulled Luna behind him and faced the man with a glare. “Who are you?”

“Auror Fulbert Fletcher,” the man said. “Come along now, we’ve got to get you to the Ministry.”

“What?” Harry asked, absolutely confused. “No. Why?”

“None of your concern.  _ Accio _ .” Harry yelped as his accio’d clothes drug him to the strange man. Without a wand to defend himself, he resorted to the type of defense he had learned at the hand of Dudley Dursley and his gangs: kicking, screaming, and making a general fuss in a public area. While there weren’t many students about, Harry hadn’t ventured far from the Great Hall and Fletcher was carrying him past the open doors.

Harry heard the gasps and shouts as he twisted to knee Fletcher in the nose. He heard a satisfying crunch just before the auror dropped him to the ground.

Harry hit hard, the breath leaving him in a rush. When Fletcher turned to look at him again, Harry scrambled backwards. All that stood between him and the auror was a softly glowing bunny. Harry stared at the patronus in confusion, then turned to look at Luna. “It’s not nice to kidnap students, you know,” she told the auror. 

“ _ What _ is going on here?” Snape demanded from the door, rushing to check on Harry and sweeping his robes over Harry’s face like a shield. He ended up crouching next to Harry as he snarled: “What are you doing here, Fletcher?”

“Came to take the boy to the ministry,” Fletcher said sourly, not quite daring to touch his bleeding nose. “Got word he wasn’t here proper-like.”

“You dare to take a minor from a school without the permission of his parent?” Snape almost growled. 

“He ain’t got parents,” Fletcher huffed.

Harry flinched, and for some reason Snape gathered him closer. “I rather hope you understand that a father is a parent, Fletcher,” Snape sneered. “I know Hufflepuff doesn’t house complete idiots.”

“You?” Fletcher asked. “A father? Don’t take me for an idiot, Snape. He’s not your son. You don’t have a son.”

Harry flinched again, just as Dumbledore shouted: “Enough!”

The entryway quieted as quickly as if he’d shouted a silencing spell.

“Fletcher, my office,” Dumbledore ordered.

“I want him out of the school, Headmaster,” Snape snapped. “He tried to take Corvus without permission. It is an attempted kidnapping at least, and based on Miss Lovegood’s response potentially an assault as well.”

“He did have his wand trained on us,” Luna said airily. “But we didn’t use ours.”

“I don’t even  _ have _ one right now,” Harry muttered. 

“Mr. Fletcher will go straight to my office so we might discuss the purpose of this attempt  _ privately _ , and then he will leave,” Dumbledore said firmly. 

Snape’s hand on Harry’s arm tightened for a brief moment.

“Go on now, Fletcher. Students, to your dormitories or common rooms until lunch,” Dumbledore ordered, then he followed Fletcher as the auror stormed off complaining about his nose.

“Are you alright, Corvus?” Malfoy asked as the students dispersed. Harry startled at the close voice, turning to see the blonde standing next to him. “What happened?”

“I- I was just talking to-” he looked up at Snape, confused. He shouldn’t know Luna’s name, but she’d acted like she’d known. But she was always a bit strange, maybe she hadn’t? 

“Did I forget to introduce myself?” the airy voice of the girl herself asked. “Luna Lovegood. It’s nice to meet you, Cory.”

“We were just talking,” Harry insisted. “I- I don’t know why, but suddenly-” He stalled, uncertain what to say.

“Mister Fletcher announced he was taking Cory to the Ministry, professor,” Luna said. Using the nickname she’d assigned to Harry. “He summoned Cory’s clothes to drag Cory towards him, then tried to carry him off.”

“Thank you, Miss Lovegood,” Snape said. “I imagine that was your patronus I followed?”

Luna tilted her head, then smiled. “The wrackspurts don’t like you,” she said. 

Harry, only somewhat convinced his cover hadn’t been blown by accident, asked quietly: “What’s a wrackspurt?”

“Don’t mind her,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “She can be a bit loony sometimes.”

Harry frowned at him, backing away a bit. “Don’t say that.”

“Sorry - just - sometimes she says things out of the blue, or talks to creatures that aren’t there,” Malfoy said. “She was one of Potter’s friends and she doesn’t look the least bit upset that he’s gone, does she?”

“Harry’s not gone,” Luna said brightly. “Just because you can’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not here.”

Harry stared at her, confused. Did she know?

Snape sighed and stood. “If we’re quite finished with this conversation, you should all return to your common rooms. Ten points to Ravenclaw for conjuring a patronus, and five more for your quick thinking, Miss Lovegood.” He turned to face Malfoy. “Draco, Corvus and I will accompany you and your friends down to the Slytherin common room. He will need to stay with you while I talk to the Headmaster. For obvious reasons, I don’t think he should be alone right now.”

Harry pouted up at him. “What obvious reasons?” he asked. “I broke his nose, didn’t I?”

“Yes, which will mean absolutely nothing if you’re alone and wandless. I’ll arrange a trip to Diagon tonight, if possible. The sooner we replace your wand the better,” Snape said. He helped Harry to stand, and when Harry looked Luna was gone.

“Why’d she call you Cory?” Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged. “It’s what my friends at home call me,” he said finally. “Don’t know how she knew that, though.”

“Can we call you Cory?” Malfoy asked.

Harry looked at him briefly, then shrugged. He was walking very close to Snape’s side, with Snape’s arm around his shoulders, and the movement made his arm bump against the professor’s side.

“We’re your friends, right?” Pansy Parkinson asked when Harry didn’t verbally answer.

Harry blinked at her, and with Severus right there he had no choice but to keep up his cover. And he had to admit: after being dragged down the hall and carried over an auror’s shoulder towards an unknown fate, it had felt nice to have Snape snap at the man and act protective. Even if it was just an act. Maybe Snape wasn’t  _ that _ bad. “I don’t even know who you are.”

Pansy blushed. “Pandora Parkinson, but everyone calls me Pansy,” she said. “And this guy over here is Blaise Zambini, another fifth year Slytherin. You’ve already met Draco.”

“Not really,” Harry said. “Snape just made him watch me while he had other things to do.” Harry tried to sound petulant, like he didn’t know what those  _ other things _ were, but they couldn’t be that important.

“Draco Malfoy,” Malfoy said, grinning. “And I still think you shouldn’t call your father ‘Snape.’ It gets confusing, since you are one.”

Harry frowned, then looked up at Severus - who was looking firmly ahead and being very careful to stay out of the conversation - then looked back at the floor. “Whatever.”

“Before we enter the common room, we should tell you that a student died over the weekend,” Parkinson said. “So don’t be surprised, okay? It was Harry Potter, and he was kind of important.”

Harry frowned, his brow creasing as he considered how to respond to the not-quite question. Finally he said. “So who was he?”

The other three stared at him for a moment, before Pansy said: “You might know him better as the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Harry shook his head.

“The one who survived the killing curse?” Blaise tried.

Harry shook his head. “No one survives a killing curse.”

“The one who claims to have faced the Dark Lord Voldemort last year?” Draco tried, stumbling a bit as he whispered the name.

“Voldemort’s a myth,” Harry said, and felt a strange fluttering in his chest when Snape squeezed his arm and bumped against him in a way that felt encouraging. “My grandparents stopped telling me those stories a while ago.”

“A myth?” Draco asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Duh. He’s like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. They aren’t real. Parents just say that so kids will behave. If you aren’t good, Voldemort will come and kidnap you.”

The three stared at each other in shock as they approached the entrance to the common room, then Harry’s belly growled. Snape looked down at him with a smirk. “Not hungry, were you?”

Harry pouted. “You were fighting. It wasn’t right. I did try to find the kitchens, but I didn’t want to go too far. This place is big, and I didn’t want to get lost. Not without my wand.”

“Luckily for you, breakfast was interrupted for everyone. I’ll have the elves send food to the common rooms so you can eat,” Snape sighed.

Harry smiled as Snape whispered the password to the common room and he saw an opportunity to act just like Dudley had with his parents - and Snape couldn’t do anything about it. “What kind of food?” Harry asked.

“Nutritious food,” Snape said evenly as Harry pulled away from him. 

“So I can have ice cream?”

Harry clearly saw an eyebrow twitch. He wasn’t sure if Snape was angry or amused, but he wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing.

“No ice cream,” Snape said.

Harry pouted. “I was almost kidnapped, wasn’t I? That never happened at my old school. I think something like that deserves ice cream.”

“Not for breakfast,” Snape countered.

Harry frowned and turned away from him. “You really are mean, you know?  _ Granma _ would have let me have ice cream.” He clearly heard snickers from across the room and determinedly did not look at the other students.

He heard Snape let out a sigh. “If you eat a good meal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner - you may have a  _ small _ amount of ice cream later.”

Harry bit his lip and nodded, deciding not to push his luck any more. Snape wouldn’t put up with the worst of Dudley’s behaviors. Besides, now he knew he could (with a bit of work) get Snape to give in. With a Slytherin audience; he wasn’t sure he was brave enough to act like that in front of Gryffindors.

“Stay in the common room,” Snape said. “Where the seventh years can keep an eye on you. I’m going to have a word with the Headmaster about letting Aurors drag off children.”

Harry nodded again and heard the swish of robes as Snape left. He could feel a slight tremor in his hands; he didn’t know if it was nerves or lack of food, but either way there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He turned to face Malfoy. “So, since we’re here and all, are you going to tell me what a Slytherin is?” he crossed his arms to hide his slight shaking. “You promised.”

“I did no such thing,” Malfoy said with a slight smile. “But I don’t think I could say no to that trembling lip you’ve got.”

Harry hurriedly backed up a step and raised a hand to feel his mouth. “I do not!” he insisted. Because he was sure he didn’t.

“Come on,” Malfoy said, motioning over to one of the couches. “I’ll introduce you to some of your yearmates and explain things.”


	17. Chapter 17

Severus stormed into the Headmaster’s office to find the wolf slumped in a chair in the corner and both Albus and the auror missing.

“Severus?” the wolf asked, slowly sitting up and making small attempts to look presentable. The tear streaks down his cheeks made such attempts fruitless. “Why are you here?”

“Where is that blasted auror?”

“I think he left,” the wolf said, his voice scratchy.

Severus scowled. He had wanted to interrogate the man and find out just why he was in the castle - and how he had gotten the misguided idea that a child was there without the headmaster’s permission. Very few had known Corvus had already ‘arrived’, and those were limited to the Slytherin students, himself, the headmaster, and Poppy. There hadn’t been time for Fletcher to find out from the general student body - unless Severus’ international travels were being monitored.

He hadn’t received permission to travel to the States, so he had used his valid permission to go to Germany first. A quick trip to SAMM from there, followed by a small pickup in Germany, and then he’d returned. He hadn’t thought there was any room for suspicion.

“Is something wrong?” Severus was startled out of his thoughts, but not out of his anger, at the wolf’s words.

“How observant,” the potions master drawled. “Your ability to note the obvious is astounding.”

“If you need Fletcher-”

“I  _ need _ to know what that idiot was doing here, and what he was thinking trying to cart off an innocent child,” Severus bit out, though he had his doubts as to the boy’s innocence. He was a Potter underneath, after all. Though it was hard to imagine the boy getting in trouble in the short time between running out of the hall and the ruckus of him being carted over the man’s shoulders. He had to believe the boy wouldn’t do something so foolish. Not so soon.

“Fletcher?” the wolf asked, confused. “He was here for Harry.”

Severus’ focus snapped towards his former classmate. “For Potter?”

Lupin nodded and stood, looking much older than Severus despite them being the same age. Severus had the brief thought that he could use some wolfsbane potion soon, then focused on what the wolf was saying. “Considering who he is, Fudge insisted on having an auror down to ensure his body was secured and all matters were seen to properly. Like anyone in the ministry even cares - half the papers are still slandering him, saying he took his own life because he couldn’t handle the voices in his head.”

Severus bit back on the comment that it was probably true when he saw the grief on the wolf’s face. Unlike the Marauders, Severus had never found pleasure in rubbing salt in wounds - at least not false ones.

He also knew he could not bring the wolf in on the scheme. His grief was too real; there was no way someone like  _ Lupin _ could hide his joy and relief at Potter’s continued life, or fake the grief necessary for convincing a particular conniving old fool that Potter was dead.

“Albus managed to get Fletcher assigned the duty - the best he could do on such short notice,” the wolf continued.

“What was he doing going after a student, then?” Severus demanded instead.

“From what I understand someone told him the child wasn’t registered yet, though I don’t know who. He was talking with the Healers, investigating Harry’s - situation - when I left to see Albus.”

Severus glared at him. “You knew the Headmaster was at breakfast making announcements.”

“Yes,” Lupin said, hanging his head. “Is it so hard to believe I couldn’t stand staring at Harry? I’ve already lost everyone else.”

Severus noticed Lupin left out any mention of the mutt. Maybe he was realizing just how unreliable and undependable Black was. “Why are you even here?”

“Harry’s family is unable to come to Hogwarts, since they are muggles,” Lupin said, hunched over where he stood and looking far older than his true age. “I am arranging the viewing here and then taking Harry to his relative’s, since his godfather is currently a fugitive.” 

“And the minister is entrusting such a task to someone with your... condition?”

“I was the one who asked Remus to step in,” Albus said from the doorway. “He was a close friend of the family.”

“Albus,” Severus growled, all thoughts of Potter’s death fleeing. It was about time the old man showed up. “We need to have a few words - about my son.”

“Yes, an unfortunate incident-”

“ _ Fletcher _ is connected to our  _ crowd _ ,” Severus interrupted. “How  _ exactly _ did he end up trying to carry my son off as an unregistered trespasser? And why in Dante’s nine hells did Castor think he was a runaway?”

“I may have forgotten to mention Corvus to them,” Albus said with a sigh. “I am truly sorry, my boy, but with the situation surrounding Harry it must have slipped my mind. I have corrected both of them and reminded them that Corvus is here with my full knowledge and permission - just as they were.”

“You have a son?” Lupin asked, still catching up to the conversation.

Severus scowled. “It seems you’ve forgotten to mention this to a lot of people,” he hissed. “No matter - Corvus and I will head to Diagon to get his supplies and you can spend the rest of the day  _ getting him registered _ .”

“I need you here, Severus,” the headmaster said. “His supplies can be owl-ordered, or taken from the school stores.”

“He doesn’t have a wand,” Severus bit out. “It was destroyed at his former school in the accident. I don't care what you say, the latest I will delay is tomorrow after classes.”

Albus sat at his desk. “I am sorry to hear that. Lemon drop?”

Severus resisted the urge to spill the ridiculous treats onto the floor. “How did Fletcher find out he wasn’t registered and why did he feel the need to go after a child not doing anything?”

“One of the nurses remarked that she was checking someone unregistered for dragon pox,” the headmaster sighed. “She was simply commenting to her coworkers in normal gossip, but Fletcher questioned her and from the records discovered that Corvus had arrived just before Harry’s health took a sharp downward turn. Since I had previously told him I suspected foul play in Harry’s death, he immediately began searching for the boy - likely to blame for Harry’s death and gain acclaim from the Minister. I had forgotten how much he loved being in the spotlight.”

“You seem to be forgetting a lot lately,” Severus seethed. “Like telling  _ me _ you suspected Potter died from anything other than mere illness.”

“We must always suspect Voldemort where Harry is concerned,” Lupin said sadly, reminding Severus the wolf was present. “It’s not like Poppy to miss such serious signs without outside influence.”

Severus glare deepened. So the old man hadn’t told the wolf they’d been faking the illness.

“He did ask you to save the boy, Severus,” Albus said sadly. “With their connection and the students knowing, he will know you failed him soon. You will need to inform him as if you didn’t know until this morning, to keep suspicion from you.”

It crossed Severus’ mind that Albus was deliberately trying to keep Severus out of Voldemort’s good graces, though he had no idea why.

“We must question his motives,” the headmaster continued. “Voldemort has always wanted Harry dead.”

“The Dark Lord is paranoid and vengeful. He wanted to deal the final blow himself,” Severus explained again.

“We have to wonder if it was something else,” Remus said. “If he was setting you up to fail because he knows your true loyalty, or if he discovered something about his link to Harry we didn’t know about.”

“ _ I _ have to wonder if you’re getting more paranoid than the Dark Lord,” Severus sneered. “You’re suspecting a  _ child _ .”

“Not just any child,” Albus said. “Your child.”

Severus took a few deep breaths through his nose before asking, voice quiet: “What are you saying?”

“Why didn’t you know about him before?” Albus asked. “The recent discovery - the suspicious timing -”

“He is my  _ son _ , Albus.”

“And Voldemort is skilled at seeing into the minds of his followers.”

“Voldemort knew as little of Corvus as you did,” Severus said. It was the absolute truth, after all.

“He could be manipulating you, Severus,” Lupin said. “You may not even know-”

“Keep your nose out of my business, wolf,” Severus snapped. “And stay away from my son.” He looked back towards the headmaster. “I will go and send the owl, as you so  _ graciously _ allow, and then I’ll look Potter over myself, as I suspect you planned to goad me into from the beginning. And since I doubt you’re in the mood to trust the brewing of your own  _ potions master _ , I’ll owl-order the necessary potions to test my own son’s paternity and prove he isn’t some plant from the Dark Lord. I trust the cost can be charged to the Hogwarts’ account?”

“Severus-”

“Good,” the dour man interrupted. “They should be here in a few days. In the meantime I will take my son to get his supplies tomorrow after classes, since it's so _urgent_ to check on your little pet paranoia right now. If there’s anything else, don’t bother  _ summoning me like a dog _ . Just send a memo.”

He spun on his heel and left.

* * *

Draco left Corvus reading to Crabbe and Goyle while he went to talk with Blaise and Theodore. He couldn’t believe Severus hadn’t come back yet; as interesting as Corvus was, Draco was getting bored cooped up in the common room. The healers had been by hours ago to test them, and everyone had been proclaimed healthy (though the one examining Corvus had made unhappy noises and insisted he eat more, warning the younger student that she would tell his father he was underweight). Even the seventh years, who had declared they were studying for NEWTs and no one was to disturb their corner of study, had gotten restless.

Not that Draco wanted to be out where all the Hufflepuffs were crying, but still. 

“You do realize those two can read, right?” Blaise asked, urging a chess piece forward on the board. “They may be dull, but they can at least read.”

“You sure?” Draco asked, forehead scrunched in a frown, then shook off the look. “Doesn’t matter. I needed something to distract Corvus.” Draco sighed and sat down at the table with his yearmates. “Besides, this way we know that potion didn’t permanently damage his eyesight. I’m sure Uncle Sev would want to know if it had.”

Theodore frowned, studying the board. “And how are you going to know if he can’t see or if he just doesn’t know how to read? It’s not like those two would be able to tell.”

Draco rolled his eyes and didn’t mention that Crabbe and Goyle would actually be able to see it better than most of the fifth or sixth years. They were supposed to be playing dumb the last he heard and he wasn’t going to be the one to spill that secret. Not yet, at least. “I just need a break, okay? I’m bored, and he might be Uncle Sev’s son, but he’s strange.”

Blaise snorted. “You can say that again. Even the first years aren’t that bloody slow at answering.”

Theodore had gone from studying the board to studying the boy in question, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Is he actually reading that book? It’s a fifth-year text.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Even I could read the fifth-year texts in my fourth year. They aren’t that much more advanced, at least to read. Doubt he understands what he’s reading, though.”

“His mood switches faster than Umbridge’s,” Blaise muttered. “And that’s saying something.”

“With a pair of glasses, don’t you think he’d look like Potter?” Theodore asked.

Draco and Blaise stared at their yearmate for a moment, then turned to look at Corvus. “Cheekbones are off,” Blaise said. “Jaw line’s a bit softer. It’d be close.” His eyes narrowed. “The voice is different, but not too far off.”

“I know he’s not,” Draco said adamantly. “I was there when Potter started getting sick, remember? I saw them in the same room together. Still, I have to wonder.”

“Wonder what?” Theodore asked.

“If I hadn’t been there, do you think they would have tried to pass Corvus off as Potter?” Draco asked. “I mean, Uncle Sev said Dumbledore came down to the dungeons while I was with Corvus in the professor’s rooms, but I didn’t see him and you know I’m a light sleeper. What if he was coming to try and, I don’t know, switch them? So he wouldn’t have to say Potter was dead?”

“If he was going to do that, why not switch Potter with Corvus instead of having Corvus play Potter?” Theodore turned his attention back to the chess board. “Think about it - You-Know-Who would stop going after Potter if he thought Potter was dead.”

Draco shook his head. “That makes no sense. First, Uncle Sev would never give his son up like that. Second, Potter’s the one who has been sick for weeks and Corvus has been perfectly healthy. Snape would notice if his son suddenly got sick for no reason and aurors would be able to tell ‘Potter’ had been murdered. Third, Potter’s a big symbol for the light. He’s practically got his own army. With Potter gone, Dumbledore loses all that support - especially if they think Potter died from Dumbledore’s negligence. And that’s what it looks like. By tomorrow all the papers will be talking about it.”

“The muggle-lovers have more reason to want to keep Potter than fake his death,” Blaise agreed. “And if you even try to move my piece, Nott, I’ll skin you.”

Theodore pouted, but kept his hands away from the board. “You’re both forgetting something big,” he said instead.

“What’s that?” Draco asked.

“Corvus would have to pretend to be Potter for the scheme to work, and Potter’s little friends would spot a fake a mile away. Even if they were told to try and hide it, it would never work,” Theodore said, debunking that version of the theory. “We, at least, would notice the change in the Golden Trio.”

“They were falling apart anyways,” Draco pointed out. “That was obvious when he got sick.”

“And the other way?” Blaise pressed. “If that’s Potter?”

Draco shook his head. “He can’t be. I told you - I saw them together.”

“Doesn’t matter, Potter couldn’t pull off a trick like that,” Theodore said. “He’s a ham-fisted Gryffindor. He’d slip up somewhere. Can you even imagine Potter demanding ice cream from Snape and practically blackmailing him into it? Snape would flip out, disguise or no. And no way Potter could could pull it off without Snape knowing. Snape’s knows all of Potter’s quirks.”

“There’s also the fact that he’s a  _ Gryffindor _ ,” Blaise said thoughtfully, watching carefully as Theodore finally made his move. “You can’t switch houses once you’re sorted, and I can’t see a son of Snape’s going into Gryffindor no matter how he was raised or who his mother was.”

“That’s it!” Draco said, grinning and drawing confused stares from his classmates. 

“What?” Theodore asked.

“His mother!” Draco said. “Corvus’ mother and Potter’s parents must have been related somehow. Or maybe Uncle Sev is somehow related to Potter.  _ That’s _ why they look so much alike.”

“Potter’s mother was a mudblood,” Theodore said slowly. “Snape wouldn’t go for that.”

“No, but sometimes mudbloods come from squib lines,” Draco reminded them. “I bet he’s related to Potter somehow. James Potter and Uncle Sev did look something alike, generally. Maybe they had a common ancestor.”

“I don’t know, Draco,” Blaise said. “That sounds even more far-fetched then switching Corvus and Potter when Snape wasn’t looking.”

Draco put out his lip in a pout. “I’m going to ask Father. He’ll know. I’m sure  _ he’d _ find it interesting.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and moved his next piece. “Whatever. Go play nanny and get your baby something to drink,” he said. “He’s been looking over at the juice long enough to make  _ me _ thirsty.”


	18. Chapter 18

“Where  _ were  _ you all day?” Harry hissed once he and Snape were alone and safely in the professor’s quarters. It was just after dinner and Harry had spent the entire day locked in the common room with the Slytherins, even after the students had been released from lockdown. The entire house had heard Snape tell him to stay put, so naturally the entire house had watched his every move to make sure he didn’t leave.

“Busy,” Snape said. He carefully sealed and locked the door to his rooms to prevent eavesdroppers and unexpected visitors; the last thing they needed was for someone to overhear them.

“You left me alone with Slytherins with barely anything!” Harry snapped. “They probably know everything!”

Snape turned towards him and raised an eyebrow. “Did you tell them anything?”

“Of course not,” Harry bit back. “They’re Slytherins.”

“That does not automatically make them enemies,” Snape said calmly, heading for his kitchen. “Just as being a Gryffindor does not automatically make one a friend.”

“No one in Gryffindor’s been an enemy yet,” Harry muttered mutinously.

“Pettigrew,” Snape responded, coming out of the kitchen and hovering a small cauldron. “There are others, but I doubt you know them by name. Jugson, Selwynn - I see the names aren’t ringing any bells. Don’t make the mistake of assuming you know all the Dark Lord’s followers; they could be anyone, working anywhere, doing anything.”

“What’s your point?” Harry asked, gritting his teeth.

“My point is don’t make enemies when you don’t have to,” Snape said. “Now sit down. If you are already suspicious then we need to do this sooner rather than later.”

Harry blinked, caught off guard. “You believe me?” he asked. He’d thought, from the way Snape was talking, that Snape was dismissing Harry’s concerns.

“I often find it is better to assume the worst than hope for the best,” Snape said. “Have a seat, Corvus.”

Harry sat down on the couch opposite Snape, looking at the cauldron curiously. “What is this?”

“A potion used for adoption,” Snape said. “It will make you my son in all the ways detectable by magic. So unless you go purposefully telling someone or let your shields fall, no one will know who you really are.”

Harry hesitated as Snape measured out a portion of the potion and set the goblet on the table between them. “Drink,” Snape said.

Snape’s black eyes watched him as Harry gripped the cushions of the couch, not moving an inch towards the potion. It sounded very permanent. He’d lose his connection to his father - his real father - if he took it. Maybe his mother as well.

He’d also lose all the burdens of being the Boy-Who-Lived.

Was being Snape’s son that much better?

Snape wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t pushing him, but Harry could tell he was getting angry. It was the way his jaw tightened and his hands clenched; it reminded Harry of Uncle Vernon.

With that thought, Harry reached for the goblet and drank it down in one go. Snape could, possibly, be just as bad as Uncle Vernon. But Snape was only Snape and if he stayed Harry Potter he would have to deal with Uncle Vernon  _ and _ Dudley  _ and  _ Aunt Petunia. He’d take his chances with only the one.

He shifted in his seat when he was done, setting the goblet down and staring at the floor. “I don’t feel any different,” he said after a moment.

He didn’t see Snape roll his eyes. “Of course not. It’s not a torture potion. Stand up. I’ll remove the transfiguration and we can see how close the estimates were.”

Harry stood again and waited in front of his professor, who removed the spells concealing Harry one by one.

“Hmmm,” Snape hummed. “Not that far off. The hair’s a bit lighter than I expected. We can dye it back for the moment, so your classmates don’t get suspicious. I should have what we need for that, thankfully, since we’ve no time to visit Diagon today. There are still things I must do for the Headmaster, and it is later than I had hoped. Tomorrow after classes is the soonest I can arrange.”

Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot, unhappy yet still eager for some reason. “Can I see?” he finally asked.

Snape let out a huff of breath. “The bathroom’s through the kitchen,” he said. “Door on the left. The door on the right is the pantry. Go.”

The layout of the suite was odd, but Harry guessed that was because the houselves had simply shifted the doorways together when they weren’t before. It wasn’t like they could move an entire room after all.

Could they?

When Harry looked in the mirror, he saw the same boy he had throughout the day looking in the bathroom mirrors. Snape was right, his hair  _ was _ lighter - as if someone had given him so many red highlights it turned his hair brown - but it was a small shift. Hair dye could cover it, and would be easily explainable. 

Worry bit at Harry’s gut. What was supposed to happen now? Snape still had a son coming; what would he tell Dumbledore? That he had somehow lost more children? That he was going on an adoption spree? That the great bachelor bat of the dungeons had more children roaming the streets than Malfoy?

Then another thought hit him: What would it be like to have a brother? Would Snape tell the other boy about what had happened? About why Snape now had two sons? Would he be older? Younger?

Harry knew he’d make an  _ awful _ brother. Wouldn’t he? He didn’t know anything about it. Just being a  _ son _ was going to be hard enough!

Harry heard the sound of dishes in the other room and quickly hurried out. Snape, like his Uncle, didn’t like to be kept waiting. Normally Harry wouldn’t care, but now he suddenly wasn’t sure.

Snape was at the counter cleaning out the empty cauldron by hand, and on the table was a small bowl of ice cream.

Harry blinked at it.

“You were promised a specific desert, were you not?” Snape asked. “If the flavor is not to your liking, I can send it back.”

“I forgot,” Harry said honestly. He’d also missed dinner, telling the Slytherins he’d eat later. Snape hadn’t asked.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “You seemed rather insistent earlier.”

“I was pretending to be Dudley,” Harry said, then clarified: “My cousin. He’s-” Harry hesitated, not quite sure how to describe his small whale of a cousin. “When it comes to magic, he’s a bit of a crybaby,” he finally said. It was partially true; if his cousin couldn’t beat it with a stick, he cried about it until Uncle Vernon made it better with presents. “And you said-” Harry stopped himself again. Snape didn’t need to be reminded of his own words.

Snape was actually watching him carefully, a look Harry couldn’t quite identify, and then he nodded. “Still, the treat is yours if you want it.” He continued to wash the cauldron.

Harry sat down to eat the ice cream (a rich vanilla bean covered in syrup and topped with a cherry) and watched the older man work. “Why are you washing it by hand?” he finally asked. “I thought you just did that for detentions.”

“Certain potion ingredients cannot be washed away with a spell,” Snape said. “That is good for us, since it means no one can magic-away what we’ve just done. The counter potion must be made with James Potter’s blood, so that is an additional security. But that same property also means the tools used to make the potion must be cleaned by hand.”

“Oh,” Harry said. The first taste of ice cream had been better than he’d thought. He’d expected something overly sweet and rich, but there was a balance between the sweet vanilla and what he now knew was a more bitter, dark chocolate syrup. It was a pleasant surprise, and he eagerly took a second small bite, letting the dessert melt on his tongue. The ice cream served in the Great Hall somehow wasn’t the same as this.

“Since it is of concern to you, we will acclimate you to your new identity as often as possible, particularly when we are alone. Start by saying your name 100 times. And please swallow your food before speaking,” Snape added drily.

Harry swallowed, then said: “Ha-”

“That is not your name,” Snape reminded him.

Harry licked his lips. “Do I have to say all of them?”

Snape nodded. “All of them. Until you know them so well, you can say them in your sleep.”

Harry sighed. “Corvus - ummm - Antoine. Something that starts with G?”

“Galahad,” Snape reminded him.

“Right. Galahad. Hadrian. Prince. Snape. Why’d you name me ‘prince’?” He took another bite of ice cream as he waited for Snape to answer, shivering at the cold touch to his tongue.

“Prince was my mother’s maiden name,” Severus said. “It is an ancient and noble line, though they would prefer it if I did not associate with them. Still, you are entitled to the name and it may serve you well, should you need it.”

Harry took another bite of ice cream as he considered this bit of information. He hadn’t really known much about his potions’ professor before. Was he not well liked by his family?

“That was only once, Corvus. You must get used to saying and hearing your name.”

“Sorry,” Harry said absently, still trying to picture Snape having a mother. “Corvus Antoine Gal-” he bit his cheek. That name was going to give him trouble. “Galahad?”

Snape nodded.

“Hadrian Prince Snape.”

“Again,” Snape demanded.

Harry almost groaned, but the sight of Snape’s stiff shoulders told him that complaints would not be welcomed.

* * *

By the time Harry had finished his ice cream, he’d lost count of the number of times he’d said his name. When Snape finally finished scrubbing the cauldron and turned to face him, Harry realized the professor hadn’t been counting either.

He almost pouted, but decided not to say anything. He hadn’t said it 100 times yet, and if Snape wasn’t going to call him on it then Harry wasn’t going to mention it.

“As I’m sure you’ve guessed, these are my quarters,” Snape drawled out, looking tired as he put the empty bowl and spoon in the sink and set a spell to washing them. “You’ve seen the bathroom and the kitchen, and I’ve told you of the pantry. You’ve also slept in the sitting room. There are four other rooms in this suite; I will show them to you now.” He pushed away from the counter and walked back out into the sitting area, passing the couch to enter the only door to the left of the fireplace. Harry followed him. “This is the study, which Draco sometimes calls my library.” 

Harry could see why; the walls were lined with bookshelves, and there was a table with four chairs on one side, and an armchair and a couch on the other. He couldn’t see a source of light - the fireplace wasn’t lit - but somehow the room had a soft glow to it.

“You may read any of the books in this room so long as they are not removed from this room and kept in good condition,” Snape said. “There is to be no eating in this room. At all.”

Harry nodded, and Snape left that room for the first door to the right of the fireplace in the sitting room. He didn’t open the door. “This is my bedroom. You are not to enter this room unless it is an emergency or I give you permission. And yes, Corvus, your nightmares count.” His eyes flicked up to Harry’s scar. “There is nothing dangerous or harmful in here, but some things should be kept private.” The Potions Master smirked. “If you don’t go digging through my underwear, I won’t dig through yours.”

Harry swallowed, turning a bit red. “Deal. But just so you know, I don’t have any at the moment.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. You didn’t think I would be that unprepared, did you?”

Harry scowled. “How’s it a deal then, if you’ve already gone through mine?”

“I didn’t,” Snape said. “Narcissa bought them for you.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Malfoy’s mum bought me clothes?”

“She seemed delighted to do so,” Snape said. “First though, the next room. This is my office,” he said, gesturing to the next door on the right. “It is connected to my rooms through this door, and through the door on the opposite side it leads to the classroom. The door is protected by strong notice-me-not charms on the other side and a password, as is standard. I have also added my own locking spells to the door to keep students out. You may leave through this door, but do not try to come in through it.”

Harry gulped and nodded. He wondered what happened when students tried to find Snape’s rooms that way.

“Last is the room you’ll be staying in. The houselves only recently moved the door here and converted it.”

“What was it before?”

“An empty office,” Snape said honestly. “They removed the office furniture and added a bed, chest, bookshelf and nightstand for you. I have asked them to find a smaller desk, as the one previously placed in there overwhelmed the room. They should find one by tomorrow after classes.”

Harry stood in the doorway and stared into the room. It hadn’t been painted, so the plain grey stone walls were bare. Since they were in the dungeons there weren’t any windows either. Like the study there was a soft light in the room which seemed to be enough to see with but Harry couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

There was only one bed.

Harry bit his lip for a moment, then decided to just ask. “So where will your son be staying?”

Snape gave him an odd look. “In this room,” he said slowly.

“Oh,” Harry said, disappointed. He should have guessed; when Snape’s son came, Harry would have to move completely out into the dorms. It was only fair, he guessed, since he wasn’t really Snape’s son. Really, the answer was obvious. His Aunt and Uncle had favored Dudley; Snape wasn’t that much different in the way he favored his Slytherins. Of course it would carry over to his children as well.

“Is there a problem?” Snape asked, sounding confused.

“No! Of course not!” Harry insisted, trying to smile and act like it was no big deal. He knew it; he shouldn’t have asked. “Sorry. Thank you.” Uncle Vernon had always preferred it when Harry tried to be polite. He also preferred no questions (and Snape was the same), but some Harry had to ask. “I have clothes in here?”

Snape nodded, still looking at Harry doubtfully (probably wondering how much he had to change for Harry, the younger decided), and motioned towards the drawers. “The houselves unpacked the clothes for you, but the rest is in the trunk. Pick out one of the softies to take to the dorm with you, and whichever books you would like to have on hand. The others can stay here. You won’t be attending classes this week, but I don’t want you to be idle, either. All the coursebooks for fourth year are in your trunk, as well as a list of assignments. You will complete these assignments by writing with your left hand. Do not concern yourself over sloppiness or spelling for your first drafts. Changing your dominant hand requires much dedication and practice, and we must do so in a short amount of time. Just keep writing. You can clean them up later.”

“Won’t people notice if I can do things with both hands?” Harry asked, his gaze focused on the plush green rug next to the bed. “What do I tell them?”

“Tell them that anything worth doing is worth doing with both hands,” Snape said. “If nothing else, that answer will confuse them.”

Harry thought it was pretty straight-forward, but didn’t contradict the man.

Instead, he wondered how long it would be before he got kicked out.

“As I said, I have work to do for the Headmaster. I will be in my study. Your bedtime is 9:30; I have rounds tonight and need to be certain you are abed before I leave. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir,” Harry said, but he didn’t plan on sleeping.

He wasn’t sure he could.

* * *

Harry realized he must have fallen asleep at some point, because the hall he was standing in was only vaguely familiar and definitely not Hogwarts. The echoing screams made his gut churn, and he stared down sadly at the man on the floor. He froze for a moment in wild panic, then forced himself to remember he was  _ Corvus _ and looked around the hall.

There was V- no, he didn’t know his name. There was another man.

“Can you help him?” Corvus asked, rubbing at his ears. The screams had been shrill.

The other man raised a non-existent eyebrow at him.

“He hurts,” Corvus said, and looked back down at the man. “I don’t know how to help him. I never studied healing.”

“Who are you?”

“Corvus,” Corvus answered, sniffling a bit for authenticity. “Who are you? Why do you look like that? Do you need a healer too?”

“I do not need a healer.”

“Oh.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, uncertain what to do now. Finally he just asked: “Can you get a healer? Why am I here?”

“I don’t know,” the other man said, ignoring the repeated request for a healer. “Are you a ghost?”

“A ghost?” Corvus yelped, backing away and looking down at his hands. “I can’t be a ghost! I’m not dead!”

“If you are not dead, then where are you?”

H-Corvus frowned. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.”

The man’s wand flicked and the body on the floor spasmed, but did not scream. “Where were you before you were here?”

“Well, I guess I fell asleep in Snape’s quarters.”

“Snape?”

Corvus nodded. “He’s - well, I guess he’s my father or something. I don’t know. It’s not like he ever wanted me before, but now that Granma and Granpa aren’t around he says I have to stay with  _ him _ . And he drugged me! Maybe he did again,” Corvus said, frowning. “He did say he had rounds to do and he wanted me in bed before that. I bet he slipped something into my food or something like that and I’m dreaming now. That makes more sense than being a ghost. Which means none of this is real! It’s all in my head.” Corvus grinned, but then the happiness faded to be replaced with a frown. “Why would I dream about a man screaming in pain?”

The other man crossed his arms and stared at him. “I don’t know what game you’re playing Potter, but you are dead. If you have come to haunt me, I promise you will find the experience unpleasant.”

“Huh?” Why hadn’t  _ he _ thought of that? Wait, he still had to play- “Who’s Potter?”

The other man glared at him. 

“Is he- isn’t that the student they were saying died?”

“They?”

Suddenly, without any control from Corvus, they were in the memory. Corvus was watching himself walk down the hall under the protection of Snape’s arm, bumping into his side from time to time, and Pa-nsy, Blaise, and Draco were telling him about the student who had died.

“Did I do that?” Corvus asked honestly.

“Hush now,” the other man said, “or I’ll have you in as much pain as that man.”

Corvus huffed, but closed his mouth.

The other man laughed - not a full belly laugh, but still clearly a laugh - when Corvus wheedled ice cream out of Snape, and the memory ended. “So,” he said, a hint of amusement still in his tone, “you are my beloved spy’s son.”

Corvus frowned. “Beloved? Does that mean you knew my mum? You aren’t going to claim to be my father too, are you? Because, no offense, but ew.”

There was that chuckle again. “You are entertaining, little one. Very entertaining. You said your father was doing rounds tonight?”

“Yeah. He had to do research or something first, though. He’s always busy, and he won’t tell me anything.” Corvus scowled in honest annoyance. “I had to have the Slytherins tell me what this whole sorting business was about.”

“You do resemble Potter, though,” the other man said, ignoring Corvus’ complaints. “How do you know you aren’t him?”

Luna came to mind immediately, and Corvus couldn’t help but smile. “Because a friend told me that I am me. Only I can be myself.”

“But are you yourself, or are you someone else?” the other man asked.

“Is that supposed to be a riddle?” Corvus asked, frowning. “I’m no good at spotting them unless someone points them out. Luna said it wasn’t a riddle, but you changed it.”

“Where’d you get that scar on your face?”

Corvus blinked, thrown by the change in conversation. “Scar?”

The man conjured a mirror and Corvus walked up to it to see his reflection. “Oh. That. A potion exploded in the classroom, and I got hit. See - it’s on my hand too.” He held out the hand which had been slightly scarred from - he wasn’t thinking about that. The marks were faint, and inconsistent, and small. “The Nurse said they aren’t going to get any better, because the potion was an aging potion and it wasn’t brewed right. I think it made Snape really mad, because I thought he was going to let me stay at school before that happened.”

“Really?” the man asked. “He was going to let you stay where?”

“Well, it’d really be staying with my cousin, but I meant stay at SAMM. That’s where I go to school. Or, well, I did.” Corvus tried not to mentally congratulate himself on remembering the name.

“Do you want to go back?”

Corvus bit his lip, then said: “This is a dream, right? He’s not going to get mad at me for anything I say here?”

The man looked surprised, but nodded. 

“I want to go back, but I also  _ don’t _ . It doesn’t make any sense.”

The man sighed, obviously tired of the topic. “No child, you make no sense at all. Why are you here?”

Corvus shrugged. “I don’t even know where here is. I don’t even know who  _ you  _ are.”

Then suddenly the other man was gone and Corvus was back in the sitting room with Snape looking over him. Corvus immediately jerked backwards in the chair and looked around the room.

It was dimly lit, and they were alone.

“You fell asleep,” Snape told him. “I imagine you would prefer the bed.”

Harry-Corvus-Harry gulped. Snape was looking at him oddly, and Corvus-Harry knew he must look half panicked. He had to give Snape an explanation, and he had to tell the truth or they could both be dead. “My dream,” he said, swallowing. “I talked to Voldemort in my dream.”


	19. Chapter 19

Wormtail was having a very bad day. Things kept  _ changing _ on him and he didn’t know why. It had all started at breakfast, when he had prepared the normal meal of mice for his Lord’s snake (she preferred rabbits, but those were typically only given to her in the winter, when she was already slow and the extra bulge in her belly was just another reason for his Lord to pamper her). He’d gone searching for the snake and brought her down for her meal only to find the platter of dead mice replaced with squirming ice mice treats, each wearing a neat bow around it’s neck of pale blue, pale pink, or a light minty green. 

They looked like after-dinner treats.

His Lord’s snake was not happy, and had snapped at his heels for hours even after he’d fed her a proper meal (and a few of the ice mice). 

He’d then cleaned the blood and entrails from the ritual room his Lord was using, completely missing that some intestines had landed on the chandelier above his head.  _ How _ they’d gotten up there was still a mystery, and Wormtail didn’t dare ask what rituals the Dark Lord was performing. All he knew was that it involved a lot of rabbits, small animals, and sometimes a deer or two. But not seeing the entrails hadn’t really been the problem, no - the problem had been when the entrails had finally given into gravity’s pull and fallen from the chandelier.

The portraits were still laughing at the high squeal he’d let escape when the wet, bloody gore had landed on his neck and slithered down the back of his shirt.

Wormtail had almost cried, he’d been so scared.

There were all sorts of Dark items in the house, after all. It was a Malfoy house, and nothing less was to be expected. There was no telling what those items might do to an unsuspecting wizard when his back was turned. He’d heard some might even make him like - and he shuddered at this -  _ pink _ . 

That was just simply evil. 

Wormtail knew he was a coward, but he wasn’t stupid. He didn’t think so anyways. He knew someone was playing pranks on him. One of the tapestries he’d put in his Lord’s throne room had been replaced with a portrait of prancing ponies. That wasn’t something that just  _ happened _ .

He couldn’t figure out who it was though. Normally he would have suspected Sirius, but it had been years since Padfoot had been able to play pranks on him. Snivellus wasn’t one for pranks either - he was just vindictive. And mean. Even the man’s  _ owls _ were mean - the one Snivellus had sent earlier that day had about pecked his eyes out! Then Malfoy had sneered at him since the letters were clearly  _ personal _ and not meant for  _ rats _ .

He always did think he was better than everyone else. Wormtail hated that attitude, both in Malfoy and in James.

Still, Malfoy would think such actions beneath himself, and hardly anyone else in the manor paid attention to the one they called  _ the rat _ . There were a few Death Eaters popping in and out at their Lord’s whims, but he couldn’t think of anyone who would leave pranks like this.

So who was it? And why were they doing it? It didn’t make any sense at all.

* * *

Voldemort stared at the body on the floor, leaning against the wall and watching Raxley’s occasional twitch. He was a lesser Death Eater, not as strong as the inner circle - not as loyal as his Knights - but Voldemort was consistent with his punishments. It was only fair. And if one of his Knights had acted as foolishly as Raxley they would have received similar treatment.

But the boy had been right; if Raxley was to survive and remain sane, he needed a healer.

It was so strange. The boy looked very similar to Potter, but not quite the same. If the two boys had been standing side by side, Voldemort would have labelled them cousins, perhaps even brothers. But the boy didn’t  _ act _ like Potter. Potter was brash, and angry, and foolish. A Gryffindor’s exuberance mixed with a Slytherin’s wrath. 

His spy’s son? Cautious. Scared. Concerned. Practically a Hufflepuff in a Slytherin robe.

He wanted to meet the boy - what had Severus called him? C-something - but he couldn’t rush such a meeting. Not with a fledgling mental connection and no immediate cause.

Or was there?

Severus’ letter - he pulled it out of his pocket and read it in a new light, picking out words and phrases the spymaster himself likely didn’t know were hints to a truth of great importance - was perhaps more important than even Voldemort had realized.

_ I have been asked to inform you - _

That was all about Potter’s death. Those weren’t the words that mattered. The delay mattered, that the old goat was trying to grow the distance between master and spy mattered, but Severus had already told him about the death. No, what he was looking for was further down.

_ Despite these oversights he seems to show interest in my son. He visited the boy shortly after Potter’s death, when I was unable to do so, to check him immediately for any trace of the illness. My son does not remember the encounter. _

What interest could Dumbledore have in the boy? What would be the purpose in checking the boy and then having the healers repeat the process the next day? Or had that been something else that the old man conveniently forgot? It was unlikely; Dumbledore had an excellent memory. Rather he suspected that the old man hadn’t truly been checking for Dragon Pox. 

Before Potter’s decline, Severus had said the old man was researching some sort of tethers. Magical tethers. And as much as it enraged him, Voldemort knew the shell of his first horcrux was in the Headmaster’s office. The diary was empty now, and that piece of soul - the largest piece - was now with him thanks to his earlier rituals (though it had been harder than strictly necessary to find the magical fawn he needed to disembowel). But magic - particularly soul magic - left traces on objects used to house it. Once those objects were “killed” the soul was left to wander, bodiless and in pain, until the remaining bits of soul could join together. Left in that state would have put Voldemort’s soul through endless torture.

Dumbledore would know, both about what the shell was and what it meant. He would call the process dark magic. He would use it to argue Voldemort had returned. He might even call such an object a “tether” - a term which was not completely inaccurate - just to watch the spy’s reaction.

Well, maybe Voldemort did need a healer after all. A healer, an old name, and a few old friends.

* * *

Severus cursed quietly at Corvus’ revelation that he’d shared a dream with Voldemort, causing his son’s eyes to go wide in shock at the foul language. “What happened?” Severus demanded.

The boy swallowed again, and Severus pulled him out of the chair and into the kitchen. Corvus didn’t seem to be in pain, mostly just shock, so Severus sat him down at the kitchen table and started heating a bit of milk on the stove and digging through his cabinets for the cocoa powder. Once he found it the milk was ready, and he mixed in the cocoa powder, a touch of salt, sugar, and cinnamon. Experience made Severus quick at preparing the warm drink, and the short time at the stove allowed Corvus to remember to breathe steadily. Severus checked quickly to make certain the drink was at a tolerable drinking temperature and then placed it before the boy. “Now, what happened?”

“You made me hot chocolate?” Corvus asked, frowning, and looked at the ingredients still sitting on the counter. “From scratch?”

“This is important,” Severus said, almost growling in his frustration. “I need to know what happened in your dream. Drink that.”

Corvus took a sip and shifted in his seat. “It was strange,” he finally said. “It didn’t hurt like it normally does, and - well - he was actually talking with me.”

“That’s unusual?” Severus asked.

Corvus nodded. “Normally I’m just observing, and sometimes I  _ am _ him or the snake. I don’t think he even knows I’m there all the time. Sometimes, maybe, but not always. This time it was like I was actually there with him. He thought I was a ghost. I should have gone with that,” Corvus said despondently. “I realized part way through he thought I was the ghost of Harry Potter. That would have been easier to explain than a mysterious link to someone he’s never met, right?”

“Since your appearance in your dream no doubt matches your physical appearance? No. It’s better that you didn’t. He would question why Harry Potter suddenly looks like Corvus if you were to meet him.” Severus put the ingredients away and set about making himself a cup of coffee. He would need it to get through the rest of the night. “What else?”

“I think you should pretend I never told you any of this,” Corvus said. “I told him I thought I was dreaming.”

“In a way, you were,” Severus said. “Though I do want to know why your shields weren’t up.”

Corvus frowned. “I’m pretty sure they were. I kept Harry Potter locked up as tightly as I could, and he didn’t seem that suspicious. He’ll probably ask you, though. He asked me if I was his ‘beloved spy’s son’. I think he meant you. I don’t know what we’re going to do to explain this.”

“Drink that cocoa,” Severus insisted. His mother had taught him that recipe, telling him it was only proper to give it to someone who was upset. It had worked wonders for Draco when he was smaller. Corvus, however, seemed to keep forgetting it was there. “Don’t worry about explaining anything to the Dark Lord. It will seem suspicious if  _ you _ know the answers when he doesn’t. I will worry about getting him to the proper conclusion - once I find out what that conclusion is.”

“You don’t know how to explain it either, do you?” Corvus asked bitterly, then took a sip of the chocolate at Severus’ glare.

“Not at the moment, but leave that to me,” Severus said and began drinking his own cup of coffee. The aroma soothed him, clearing his head, and the heat relaxed the tension in his hands. “I will need to go on rounds soon. When I do, you are not to open the door for anyone. I don’t care if the headmaster himself is out there, do not let him in.”

“Can’t he get in anyways?” Corvus asked. “He is the headmaster.”

“A certain amount of privacy is expected,” Severus explained. “If he has cause for concern, he can override certain protections to enter the room, but I don’t want to make it easy for him.”

“Oh,” Corvus said.

Severus finished his coffee and put the mug in the sink. “Finish your chocolate and go straight to bed. Make sure your shields are in place before you fall asleep. I will add additional lessons to the growing list of things we must do.”

“Right after ‘get a wand’ and ‘be sorted’?”

“And ‘change your dominant hand’, ‘make certain you ask for muggle foods’, and ‘keep you from acting like a Gryffindor at every spell’,” Severus added. There was more, too. Keeping his story straight, remembering his name, and so much more. Severus could, with some effort, pull a role up from his memory and wrap it around him like a cloak, patching up the holes in the fabric when necessary. But that was his own role and Corvus needed to find his own way to do so. 

Corvus’ mouth tilted in a semi-smile. “Hot chocolate is muggle,” he said, “but I never had someone make it for me before.”

Severus frowned; the statement was very odd. “From scratch, you mean?” he asked. The boy had seemed surprised by that.

Corvus shrugged. “Muggle hot chocolate comes in little packets full of powder that you mix with water,” he said.

The way he said it made Severus wonder if there wasn’t something else behind the statement, but he didn’t have time to look into it. The clock on the wall read 9:45; he was already late for his rounds.

“Don’t stay up late nursing that,” he ordered. “Tomorrow will be busy and you’ll need sleep.”

Corvus nodded, and Severus reluctantly left him.


	20. Chapter 20

Despite Snape’s comments that the next day would be busy, Harry found himself bored. Snape had given him a choice between spending the class periods in the Slytherin common room or studying in the back of the classroom. Unwilling to spend the day around too-smart Slytherins asking too many questions, Harry had opted for the classroom and found himself seated at Snape’s desk at the very front where everyone could stare at him.

What he hadn’t realized was that when Snape said ‘study’ he meant ‘read list of career options, the OWL and NEWT scores required for each, and a description of all Hogwarts courses.’ Snape had even given him a list of classes he was going to  _ require _ Harry take - which included Ancient Runes and Arithmacy, two courses Harry hadn’t elected before.

Harry guessed it was probably his own fault. When Snape had asked him what his career goals were while they ate breakfast, Harry’s dismissive shrug had made Snape’s hands clench on his fork. Snape had asked which he’d been looking into, which was when Harry remembered McGonagall offering small packets of information for those who wanted them. When Harry told Snape he hadn’t asked to see any of the career brochures, the scowl Snape had worn had made Harry glad they were eating alone in Snape’s quarters.

Harry had been surprised, at first, at the number of brochures Snape had given him. He hadn’t even thought about what he wanted to be when choosing his classes before; he’d simply taken all the core classes and ones that seemed easy (Divination) or fun (Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid) for electives. Now he had a list of all the things Snape thought he might want to be - Auror, Wandmaker, Magical Veterinarian, Healer, Magical Architect, Spellfinder, and more - and it took him a moment to realize Snape saw him with a future. Snape had given him the guidelines for these careers because he thought Harry would have one beyond ‘kill the evil wizard who killed your parents’.

It was a bit overwhelming, and it made him uncomfortable. He’d always been told what to do before - what chores to do, what classes to take, where he was going and when he was going there - that the idea of being able to pick his future was unsettling. He was half tempted to ask Snape to just pick one, because Harry was sure whichever one he picked wouldn’t be the  _ right _ one. Snape would sneer at him or think he was acting too much like ‘Harry Potter’ and not enough like ‘Corvus Snape.’ Or think Harry had chosen something he wasn’t capable of doing.

“Everything all right?” 

Harry looked up at the voice and found himself looking at Malfoy, who was dropping a stack of papers off at Snape’s desk. He nodded. “Snape wants me to pick my classes, I guess,” he said.

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

Harry couldn’t stop the scowl on his face. “I’d already picked out my classes once, and it wasn’t this much trouble,” he said. “You have to take most of the classes offered at SAMM. I don’t even know what Ancient Runes is - and why would I ever need Arthimacy? I already took my basic maths!”

Malfoy - Draco, Harry reminded himself - gave him a small smile. “If you ask, Uncle Sev will help you pick them out. Give him a chance, would you?”

It sounded so sincere, and Harry was almost dizzy from having more civil conversations with Draco in the past two days than he ever had as ‘Harry Potter’. “I want to go home,” he finally said, though he wasn’t completely sure that was true.

“What do you miss most?” Malfoy asked.

Harry looked up, confused. “What?”

“What do you miss most about where you were before?”

Harry shrugged, looked down at the papers on the desk, and just started listing all the things a normal boy ripped from his home would miss. “My cousin. My friends. Granma and Granpa. Flying. Going outside. Sodas. Pancakes. Treacle Tart. Granma’s pudding.”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” Draco sighed, keeping quiet so the other students didn’t eavesdrop. “Do you have a broom?”

It was such a simple question, but Harry absolutely did not know the answer to it. Harry was sure he looked panicked.

“I haven’t completely unpacked all his things, Draco,” Snape said, coming up behind the blond. “Need I remind you that my class is not for you to waste in idle chatter with my son? Go. You have a potion to brew.”

Draco nodded and left, leaving what Harry realized were quizzes on the desk behind him.

“We can discuss things in more detail later, in private,” Snape told Harry. “If you’d like, the next class is first years. You may participate in the brewing, provided you brew at a side table so as not to influence the other students’ grades.”

Harry nodded, realizing with a small burst of -something- that even brewing potions with his off hand sounded better than looking at career options any longer.

He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

* * *

Harry wasn’t really surprised when the class of first years turned out to be first year Slytherins and Ravenclaws. Gryffindors were more likely to cause explosions in class, and ‘Corvus’ had already been through one of those. No way Snape would let him brew with Gryffindors in the room.

As they seated themselves, Snape set up a side bench with the necessary ingredients and a handwritten list of instructions. Harry studied it as the students settled down, realizing it was a simple potion he himself had learned to brew first year: basic acne draught. Malfoy had laughed when Neville’s potion had gone up in smoke and caused pimples to pop up wherever the smoke touched his skin. It had taken three healing creams from the nurse to get it to calm down.

“Seeing as how we have a guest brewing with us today,” Snape drawled, “I expect all of you to be on your best behavior. Who can tell me why we’re brewing this particular potion?”

One of the small slytherins raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Hangly?”

“The Clear Skin potion is a cosmetic potion which has non-vola-” she hesitated, then said slowly: “non-vol-a-tile ingredients. It is a basic potion which is very similar to the more advanced basic healing potions and lotions. When completed it can either be used as a rinse, a scrub or additional ingredients can be added to turn it into a soap-like bar.”

Harry was pretty sure Hermione actually still brewed the potion and took the steps to make it into a bar. He’d seen some in the bathroom when they were at Sirius’ house, and he knew Ron didn’t use it...

“Very good. And where would we find the calendula seeds?” Snape was asking.

“At the apothecary?” one slytherin snickered.

How could Harry have forgotten about Sirius? And Professor Lupin? They wouldn’t know the truth - and he wouldn’t be able to see them again. Not as himself, at least. Sirius had bought him his firebolt! Had broken out of prison for him! And Professor Lupin had taught him how to cast a patronus, and told him about his father!

“Quite possibly, Mister Greyson, but then how do you know the quality of the seeds?” Snape was continuing with the lecture, probably not even noticing that Harry wasn’t paying full attention anymore. How could he? “Do you know what time of day they were harvested? How long ago they were harvested?”

“No,” the first-year muttered.

“Speak up.”

“No, sir,” the slytherin said again, slightly louder.

“Precisely. So while Mister Greyson answer is correct, it is not complete. Any other suggestions?”

There was silence and shuffling (and Harry’s confused mind swirling) until one lone Ravenclaw raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Flutterbai?”

“Aren’t calendula plants just marigolds?” she asked.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Partially correct. One point to Ravenclaw. Calendula plants are marigolds, but just like not all plants are marigolds, not all marigolds are calendulas. The best time to harvest the seeds for this particular potion is when the sun is at it’s highest. Well?  _ Why aren’t you taking notes _ ?”

Just like the first years, the raised voice snapped Harry out of his daze and back into class. He scrambled for a quill to write with and started copying down facts on a spare bit of parchment with his left hand. Even taking slower notes - Snape was, for once, going slow in consideration of the first years - he couldn’t match the tight and neat handwriting on the parchment Snape had given him.

It wasn’t until later, when they were actually brewing, that Harry realized the instructions on the board and the instructions he was given were different. When Snape came over to check on him (even for a first year potion, it seemed the dungeon bat couldn’t trust a Potter to get it right) Harry managed to ask: “Why’s mine different?”

“You’re brewing my modified version,” Snape said. “I assumed, since you were not actually a first year, that it would not be a problem. Is it?”

Harry shook his head. “I can do it,” he said stubbornly.

“Very well. Once you are finished, you may compare the two instructions and the different results to see if you can gain some glimmer of understanding as to how it has improved,” Snape said, and though the words were familiarly condescending the tone was carefully controlled to be mild. “Stay over here, though. The last thing I need is another potion blowing up in your face.”

Harry nodded, and watched as the professor swooped around the room to check the various brews, his robes snapping around him. Snape had done that in every class, and none of the students had been surprised. On some level, Harry found that comforting. It meant that it wasn’t just his yearmates that Snape had been mean to. 

On another level he found it worrisome. It meant Snape was mean to everyone, so it wasn’t likely to be any different for his own son.

* * *

Harry stumbled a bit when they arrived at Diagon Alley, but Snape held his shoulders firmly so he didn’t fall. “Thanks,” Harry said a bit breathlessly. “What was that?”

“Side-along apparition,” Snape said. “Rather more pleasant than your usual portkey, but does take some getting used to.”

“Oh.”

“Wand first, I think,” Snape said. “Then Gringotts, then books. From there we will see what time it is and what we still need to accomplish.”

“Okay,” Harry said, blinking and wondering when it was Snape decided to be informative. Normally he would simply drag Harry off and expect to be followed.

The rest of the day had passed normally, and after the last class had let out Snape had immediately closed up the classroom and led Harry through the castle, past the Hogwarts gates, and brought them to the outskirts of Diagon Alley. The potions master hadn’t stopped to talk to anyone or even let the headmaster know they were leaving.

Harry was beginning to see a pattern there.

“This way,” Snape said, leading Harry into the main crowd of Diagon Alley traffic. “Welcome, Corvus, to Diagon Alley. England’s only true wizarding shopping district.”

Harry looked briefly at Snape and decided they were in public and a real son wouldn’t be afraid to ask a few questions. “Does England only have one?”

“There are a few minor ones,” Snape said, “but only Diagon Alley has Gringotts - our bank - and the smaller shopping districts generally do not have the quality or selection of Diagon.”

Harry nodded, and followed Snape into Ollivander’s. When Snape wanted to, he moved  _ fast _ . 

“Ah, Severus Snape,” greeted the old man Harry had only met once before. “It’s been many years-”

“Spare us the retelling of my wand,” Snape said. “We’ve come here to obtain a new wand for my son.” He pushed Harry forward slightly, and Harry frowned. Why didn’t Snape want to talk about his wand?

“He thinks it’s a great secret,” Ollivander said, looking Harry up and down, “but anyone can recognize a blackthorn wand when they see it - very loyal, those wands, and his was particularly stubborn. As if it knew just what he had to face.”

“What he had to face?” Harry asked.

“Enough,” Snape said. “I’ll not have you filling his head with false ideas or hopes. Or have you forgotten that it’s best not to cross a wizard with a wand from a thornbush?” The scowl on his face showed he wouldn’t be against reminding the other wizard if he’d forgotten.

Harry shifted on his feet. There was something Snape didn’t want Harry to know about his wand, but Harry didn’t know enough about wandlore to understand what Ollivander was hinting at. It made the small store seem extremely hot and tense.

“Arms up, out to the side!” Ollivander said cheerily after a brief moment. Harry obeyed and a tape measure went whipping about him. As before, Harry had no idea what it was measuring. “It’s been a few years since anyone has come to me for a second wand. They generally don’t work as well as the first - not as loyal, you see, and don’t have all those years of relationship building - but no worries! We’ll get you sorted.”

“Relationships?” Harry mouthed to Snape over his shoulder.

Snape nodded his head forward and Harry turned around to see Ollivander bringing back the first wand for Harry to try. “Here we are - Holly and Dragon Heartstring. Pliable. Give it a wave.” Harry did, and a box on the opposite side of the room burst open.

“Nope! Onward then! Try this one - applewood and unicorn hair, an unusually stubborn combination.”

When Harry waved the wand, he turned three of the tall shelves holding wands bright pink. All three men winced. “Not quite - strong, but not right… let’s try this, shall we?”

And so they continued. Stubborn wands, flexible wands, hazelwood, dogwood, birch, oak, wands with different woods for body and handle, wands with different lengths, each produced a different result and none gave Harry the warm feeling of home his first wand had given him at first touch. 

“Let’s try something a little different, shall we?” Ollivander asked. “I usually only offer this one to Ravenclaw potentials with a stubborn streak, but it might just do…” He pulled out a box from under the table and lifted the wand from it, handing it to Harry.

It was the one. It wasn’t the same as his old wand - but it was almost better. His old wand had made Harry think of a warm and loving family, and a home as it should be. This wand gave Harry the impression that it actually  _ liked _ him. It was as if the wand was a friend who would curl up with Harry when he needed to cry and then help him get revenge.

“Interesting,” Ollivander hummed as the wand let out a shower of gold and silver sparks in celebration. As an experiment, Harry swished the wand and repaired a few of the boxes he’d burst open with the previous wands.

“Get on with it,” Snape growled impatiently as Harry turned the shelves back to plain maple. “Tell us what it’s made of.”

“That wand has been tried by many a student, because it  _ should _ be very good for any Ravenclaw with a spine,” Ollivander said, “yet for thirteen years it hasn’t given a spark for any young witch or wizard. The body is made of lime wood, or Linden. It isn’t very common here, but I’ve a friend in Germany who sent me a few samples to work with. Very good for Defense, lime wood is. The handle is made of Hazel, which is very quiet and versatile. Best for charms and transfiguration, but also hints that the user may have some divination skills. Hazel is known for bursts of inspiration and wisdom. I’ve had quite a few students craving that wand would choose them, and only one it almost matched. I was surprised it paired with the Linden so well.”

“And the core?” Harry asked quietly. 

“Hippogriff feather,” Ollivander said. “I’ve seen stronger cores, but none that can adapt so quickly. And none so quick to take an insult. You respect and trust that core, young man, and that wand will do what you need it to. Insult it, and it will bite you faster than you can cast.”

Harry nodded, not knowing how else to respond.

“Ollivander wands only contain one of three cores, and Hippogriff feathers are not one of them,” Snape bit out. “Why the change?”

“We only use one of three cores because my grandfather decided they were the best,” Ollivander pointed out. “While typically only wands with those three cores sell - and they make up the majority of wands I create - I do like to experiment with changes.”

“Cost?” Snape asked.

“Standard seven galleons,” Ollivander said. “Though the material is rare, the wand was experimental.”

Snape handed over the money, then guided Harry out of the shop.

“Did you notice he never called me by name?” Harry asked once they were out on the street.

“I beg your pardon?” Snape asked.

“Ollivander. When I - you know - he knew exactly who I was. But while we were getting my wand he never called me by name,” Harry said.

“You are not as well known as some of the other children in the area,” Snape said, looking towards the bank and grabbing Harry’s hand so they were not separated in the crowd. Harry was so shocked at first he almost pulled away. “Had he seen the Daily Prophet a few weeks back, he would have seen the announcement of my son and made the connection. He is not a Seer; his skill lies in a nearly photographic memory.”

“Oh,” Harry said, surprised. 

He stayed quiet until they arrived at the bank. Snape held his hand as they walked past the tellers to one of the goblins in the back of the room. When Snape let go of his hand, Harry quietly backed away to let the man do his banking without being overheard. 

He’d been to the bank with Uncle Vernon before. He knew better than to try and eavesdrop on a financial conversation. Besides, the goblins were looking at him funny and while Snape had faith that his potion could fool people, Harry still felt like everyone  _ knew _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Pottermore:  
> "Blackthorn, which is a very unusual wand wood, has the reputation, in my view well-merited, of being best suited to a warrior. This does not necessarily mean that its owner practises the Dark Arts (although it is undeniable that those who do so will enjoy the blackthorn wand’s prodigious power); one finds blackthorn wands among the Aurors as well as among the denizens of Azkaban. It is a curious feature of the blackthorn bush, which sports wicked thorns, that it produces its sweetest berries after the hardest frosts, and the wands made from this wood appear to need to pass through danger or hardship with their owners to become truly bonded. Given this condition, the blackthorn wand will become as loyal and faithful a servant as one could wish."


	21. Chapter 21

Corvus had taken to standing back aways while Severus dealt with the goblins. Severus didn’t blame him really - goblins weren’t the best creatures to deal with - but the conversation they’d had before entering the bank was worrying. It told Severus that Corvus wasn’t separating  _ Corvus _ from  _ Harry Potter _ . Yet at times it seemed those two people were separated completely in his head, as when he asked Severus where Severus’ son would be sleeping. At that point  _ Harry Potter _ had forgotten that he was  _ Corvus _ , Severus’ son. It was a lot to ask from a child, but Severus would find a way for them to pull through.

Severus waited while the goblin pressed a new key and kept an eye on the boy. Having a son was going to be difficult, but what really grated against his nerves was that Corvus didn’t seem to  _ want _ to be his son anymore. What had happened to the boy who had asked if Severus would protect him? Had Severus been too harsh? It was his nature. The child had known this. Severus wasn’t nice. Not to anyone.

“Come over here, now, Corvus,” Severus said, trying to keep the impatience from his voice. Once Corvus was close enough, Severus told him: “I do not know what your grandparents left you, as that paperwork has not come to me yet, but I have set you up with a small trust vault for personal expenses here at Gringotts,” he told the boy, whose eyes had suddenly gone wide. “The goblins are pressing the key now. Do not expect much in the vault; it is an allowance for frivolities, and I do not tolerate much of them. It will not be used to purchase anything loud, large, or otherwise obnoxious without my permission first. Is that understood?”

Corvus nodded, his green eyes blown, and Severus wondered for a moment what the panic was over. If it was panic; aside from the eyes and how quiet he was being, Corvus seemed normal enough.

“There will be one galleon placed in the account per week,” Severus said, “as an allowance. To start the account, I have asked that 20 galleons be placed in the account.”

Corvus hesitated a moment as the goblin came back and set the key on the desk, but had opened his mouth to ask a question. Severus waited, one eyebrow raised, until Corvus blurted out: “How much is that in muggle money?”

“Based on current exchange rates,” the goblin said, “one galleon is worth about 4.67 English pounds. This number fluctuates, often ranging from 4.75 to 5.15 pounds to the galleon. The average rate over the past three years is 5 pounds to the galleon exactly. This puts the current value of the vault, using the 4.67 exchange rate, at 93.4 English pounds.”

Corvus blinked at the creature, and Severus thought for a moment he’d stopped breathing. It honestly was a decent amount - but it wasn’t overwhelming. He’d spent more buying presents for Draco for Christmas. Which was a reminder he’d need to buy Christmas presents for Corvus as well.

“Oh,” Corvus finally said. “Thank you. Um, could you say that in American Dollars though? I just got here, you see, and I don’t know that much about muggle England.”

Severus could be proud of Corvus for remembering that later. For now, the Goblin was spewing out more numbers. “The current exchange rate for American dollars is about 9.86 dollars to the galleon. This value tends to fluctuate more, as we must first convert to English pounds and then have the muggles convert to American currency. Gringotts does not deal directly with any American banks to make the conversion directly.” The goblin looked haughty as he said it, and Severus almost rolled his eyes. Goblins had long memories, and still remembered the days when the United States were just colonies rebelling against the motherland. “Using current exchange rates, that would be approximately 197.2 American Dollars.”

“Thank you,” Corvus said, keeping his voice small.

“The vault has an interest rate of .02%,” Severus said, “one of the best you can get for a small vault, so it’s best to leave the money in the vault if you aren’t going to spend it.”

Corvus’ brow furrowed. “Interest rate?”

“Gold kept in Gringotts’ vaults and gold borrowed from Goblin stores earn interest over time,” the goblin said gruffly. “As loans accumulate interest the borrower must return a greater sum to the bank, but in the case of a vault account we pay a small amount for keeping gold. Any non-monetary items in the vault do not accumulate interest. Interest is calculated based on a monthly average. If your 20 galleons remains in the vault for a month without the value changing, you will earn 2 knuts.”

It seemed a measly amount, hardly worth all the fuss over calculating, but as the account grew the amount of interest it earned would grow as well. Severus knew from experience that money left in vaults could earn enough interest to be worth it. Corvus would learn the same lessons easily enough.

“Do you-” he hesitated, and Severus gave him a nod to go ahead. “Do I have to come to the bank to withdraw money all the time, or do you have credit cards?”

Severus had never heard of a credit card, but obviously the goblin had dealt with enough muggles to be familiar with the term. “We do not issue credit cards, but we do offer something similar to the muggle ATMs,” the goblin said. “Goblin Teller Stations - GTSes - can be found in most wizarding villages. Professor Snape can show you the one in Hogsmeade. There isn’t one in Diagon Alley, as we prefer you visit the bank directly.”

“Oh, okay,” Corvus said, biting his lip.

Severus picked up the key and handed it to the child. “You do not need to visit the vault to withdraw money - many simply go to a teller station and ask the Goblin to withdraw the appropriate amount. The goblin on duty will make the necessary transaction. Do you need any money now? We are going shopping.”

Corvus worried his lip some more, seeming to debate internally. Severus did his best not to scowl. “No,” Corvus suddenly said. “You’re paying for my books, right? So I don’t need any.”

“No treats you want for yourself?” Severus asked skeptically. He’d expected to have a fight over the small amount, and had even told the goblin he might need to add more funds to the account later expecting the boy would overspend.

“No offense, but a bank vault isn’t going to bring Granma back,” Corvus said, looking at the floor. “If I could have anything, I’d want that.”

To Severus, it looked like Corvus was angling for sympathy and a hug, but Severus was not a demonstrative man. He also wasn’t about to reward the boy for simply accepting a small amount and not trying to negotiate better. “Very well,” he said, turning to the goblin and accepting the pouch of coins the creature handed over. “It appears our business is complete.”

“May gold overflow your vaults,” the goblin said, a standard farewell that was more greedy than it sounded.

Severus merely nodded instead of giving any sort of response and urged his son out of the bank, the vault key secure in Corvus’ pocket.

Books - for the core subjects, since Corvus hadn’t chosen his electives yet - and then back to Hogwarts. He hoped it would be simple, but considering the past few days that was unlikely.

* * *

Hermione tried very hard not to cry. It was hard, knowing Harry was gone. Dead. Brought down by a wizarding illness she’d never heard of before.

But she had to go on. Life didn’t stop just because she had lost her best friend. Ginny wouldn't stop crying, and Ron had forgotten how to get to his classes. Twice. And the twins? They were practically morose. 

In the midst of all this was the arrival of Snape's son. It was hard to imagine, but with the boy's looks it was also hard to deny. Hermione wasn’t sure what to think of the rumors that surrounded the boy. Rumors that Snape had cloned himself to get a son - ridiculous, of course - to rumors he’d killed Harry had spread through the school like wildfire, and like usual no one knew what was true and what was false. One thing Hermione was sure of, though: he looked enough like Harry to make her heart ache. Oh, he wasn’t Harry. There was no way her Harry would do that to his friends. But he looked like he was  _ almost  _ Harry, and that hurt worse. She was so very glad he wasn’t in her class, because she wasn’t sure how she would be able to live with the constant reminder of her friend.

“I can’t believe they made us go to classes today,” Ron grumbled.

“They gave us yesterday off, Ron,” Hermione said softly. “That’s more than they would have done for anyone else. Normally they only let those close to him miss class.”

“We were close to him,” the redhead stated firmly. “We were his  _ friends _ .”

“I miss him already.” She was surprised to feel the tears on her cheeks again. She’d thought she’d finished crying when she’d cried herself to sleep the night before. “I feel like we haven’t really seen him in weeks.”

“That’s because we haven’t,” Ron grumbled. “They had him in lockdown even during  _ Halloween _ . He missed the  _ match _ .”

“Not everything’s about Quidditch, Ron,” Hermione snapped, suddenly angry. Harry was gone and Ron was still upset about losing a stupid game?

“Really?” Ron demanded. “Last year we lost Cedric, and he was on the Hufflepuff team. This year we lose our seeker. Say what you like, Quidditch is a physical sport and shows magical control while focusing on other tasks. It hones your reflexes, and builds muscle.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “All sports are mock-battles,” she said. “They were the first forms of war-games in ancient times. Which has very little to do with the fact that Harry is still gone-”

“Stop saying that!” Ron yelled. “We get it, okay? Harry’s not coming back! He’s never coming back! You can stop rubbing it in our faces!”

Hermione felt her eyes well up with tears again. “I’m-”

“Everyone knows Harry loved quidditch. You can’t take that away from him.”

“I’m not trying to,” Hermione tried to explain. “But he was more than just quidditch.”

“He was brave,” Ginny spoke up from by the fireplace. “He’d always say you-know-who’s name.”

“He had a temper, too,” Neville said. “He’d stand up to Snape just because he didn’t like him.”

“He was really good at Defense,” Dean said. “He always picked the spell up quickly.”

“He was sneaky,” Seamus added. “Somehow he managed to get in and out of the dorm without anyone seeing him.”

“He always tried to tell the truth,” Ron said after a moment. “Even if no one would listen.”

“And he really loved flying,” Hermione said. “You could see it every time he was in the air.”

Even though classes had resumed, no one made a move to do their homework or study for the next quiz. Even Hermione felt no urge to read ahead in her textbooks. It didn’t feel right with Harry gone. It felt like a piece of them was missing.

Some far corner of her mind wondered what this meant for the war against Voldemort, and what would happen when he learned Harry was gone, but it was a distant and indistinct thought. Much more immediate was the gaping hole Harry had left behind. Life would go on without him, but it would never be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late (and short) chapter. There's a new puppy in the house begging for attention. ;)


	22. Chapter 22

Severus very carefully didn't groan when he saw Lucius entering Florish and Blotts. He was very nearly finished selecting Corvus' textbooks - maybe a few elective books, just to give the boy a sense of the subjects - and Corvus was looking through the fiction section. Of course Lucius would have determined Severus' plan and made a timely trip himself; the man had a nose for gossip and a wife who loved to hear about it. And right now Lucius Malfoy was sniffing for secrets like a bloodhound.    
  
"Good Evening, Severus," Lucius greeted amicably. "It's unusual to see you at Diagon during the school year."   
  
"Corvus is still in need of supplies," Severus said. "Please send my thanks to Narcissa for supplying a full wardrobe. Aside from the school uniforms, everything else the poor boy owned was horribly muggle. I don't know what those two were thinking."   
  
"They did manage to hide him very well - as it seems you have. I'm surprised you've let him out of your sight after what happened."   
  
"He's not out of my sight yet," Severus smirked, jerking his chin towards the fiction section where Corvus was trying very poorly to hide his interest and curiosity. "Though I admit I don't quite know what to do with him until he's sorted and in classes. It seems such a simple thing, but Dumbledore insists on waiting until Friday. He'll be at loose ends for another three days, at least."   
  
"Idle hands are not favorable in a potions lab," Lucius said. "You've told me that often enough when Draco visited."   
  
"He has been reviewing some of the coursework, at least. It's not an exact correlation between our syllabi and theirs, so that has given him something to do. But he grows bored with it quickly," Severus admitted. "Too much of it is true review."

“That is unfortunate,” Lucius said graciously. “Perhaps he wouldn’t mind spending a day or two with myself and Narcissa?”

“As grateful as I would be for the respite, I don’t think it would be a good idea,” Severus sighed. “A certain  _ old man _ suspects  _ a child _ being involved in a certain  _ death _ .” He waited patiently for Lucius to work through the nuances of what he’d said and reach the correct conclusion. “If Corvus were to spend a great deal of time with you, given certain suspicions, it would only give weight to the idea that the child was sent to spy on me.”

“He is but a child!” Lucius hissed, looking outward to make certain they were not overheard.

“Indeed,” Severus agreed. “Additionally, I have to  _ prove _ he is my child to certain persons. I sent to the ministry for the potions to test paternity, since my own brews will not be trusted. If it must be done, there is no reason not to make it official and wipe the doubt from all minds. Though the process is undeniably slow.”

“Do you need me to ensure the brewer is trustworthy?” Lucius asked.

Severus shook his head. “I am not worried about the brewer. If something is wrong with the potion, I will know. I worry more who will be sent to witness the testing. I don’t need another incident like what happened with Fletcher. I don’t know if I can handle the stress of that again.” He sighed. “I never particularly wanted children,” he continued. “You know this. So why did seeing him like that cause a panic worse than when I faced a werewolf?”

Lucius smiled. “Because you are a father now,” he said. “He is your child, and you want to see him well.”

“I barely know him.”

“You will learn. And so will he.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “That is inevitable.”

There was a few moments of silence as Corvus seemed intent on the books on the shelves, but every few moments his eyes would flick up to the two adults watching him.

“Any word from your... guest?” Severus finally asked, wondering what Lucius would say about the Dark Lord in his home. 

“I have books to send you,” Lucius admitted. “He thinks you’ll find them entertaining. Can I owl them to you at the school, or should I send them to your home?”

“The school is fine. Now that Umbridge is gone there are fewer restrictions on mail. The student packages I could understand, but I never could comprehend why she was interested in staff mail. Particularly Sybil’s - those tabloid rags she subscribes to are awful.”

“According to her testimony she was looking for traitors,” Lucius said. “How she expected to find them in mail is unclear.”

Severus nodded. “I suppose it is time for me to introduce you to my son. Unfortunately we won’t be able to linger; it is nearing dinner, and I need to be back to supervise detentions at seven,” Severus said.

“A brief introduction, then,” Lucius agreed, “and a more intimate one when you join us for Yule.”

“Lucius-”

“You are both welcome for the entire holiday, Severus,” Lucius said stiffly, interrupting despite his usual proper manner. “Draco would be devastated if you were to stay away.”

“Maybe for a few days,” Severus allowed. “But more will have to depend on how well Corvus settles in. I won’t subject you to a brat for more than necessary. No matter his behavior normally, such changes can bring out the worst.”

“We’ll see,” Lucius said tersely. “Now, show me your son.”

Severus didn’t hesitate to walk the short distance to where Corvus was browsing; protesting more would make Lucius stubborn, and not introducing the two would have made him angry. The last thing he needed in his life right now was an angry Malfoy. 

“Corvus, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Lucius Malfoy. He is Draco’s father.” Severus used one hand to turn Corvus to face the blond. “Lucius, this is Corvus. My son.”

Lucius smiled. “Hello Corvus,” he greeted.

“Hullo,” Corvus said. He tried to back up a bit, and when he couldn’t ended up turning until he was under Severus’ arm the way he’d been when Severus escorted him from the Great Hall. Severus raised an eyebrow at the very shy and defensive posture, but didn’t comment on it.

Luckily, Lucius wasn’t one to let a conversation stall. “You looked very interested in these books over here,” Lucius said. “Do you like fiction?”

Corvus shrugged. “Gran never bought me books like these,” he said. “I like muggle fiction though. And comics.” Severus almost startled when a hand fisted in the back of his shirt and pleading eyes turned up to him. “Did those get packed?”

“We’ll have to see,” Severus said hesitantly. “Someone else packed your truck, and I only got as far as unpacking your clothes.”

“Oh,” Corvus said, his gaze dropping. “Kay.”

Severus blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “We’re going to have to work on your enunciation. I hear students mumble enough in their own conversations, but that doesn’t mean it is acceptable in all conversations.”

Corvus seemed startled. “Okay.”

Severus nodded, then looked at Lucius. Unfortunately the conversation had turned a bit awkward, but the blond seemed more curious and interested in the interaction than anything else. “So does that mean you want to try some wizard fiction?” he asked Corvus.

Corvus shrugged. “Maybe later. I was just-” he hesitated, bit his lip, then took a book off the shelf and handed it to Lucius. “I read the back and thought it looked interesting, then glanced through the first chapter. The author has it all wrong. Living like a muggle - it’s nothing like what the author says. No muggle would do those things. It’s horrible.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow, then looked at the book.  _ From the Inside _ , it said,  _ by Tracey Burns _ . “I don’t understand,” he admitted. 

Corvus looked at the floor. “I thought - I thought if he was writing a book he would at least get it right. Do some research. Even muggle fiction books try to get the magic right. Not all of them do, but not all of them know about the wizarding world. I thought - I thought since all wizards know about the muggle world, their fiction would be better. But it’s not. It’s not worse, either - it’s just. Different.”

“You can’t judge all wizarding fiction off of one book,” Lucius said, likely uncaring if it were accurate or not. “Here.” He put the book back and then grabbed a different book from further down the shelf. “This one might be more to your tastes. It’s an adventure book, about two young wizards who have to face a lot of trials to rescue the princess. There’s dueling and giants and unstoppable true love. My son thought it was a great book when he read it this past summer.”

“Oh,” Corvus said. “Thank you, but I didn’t bring any money.”

“Nonsense. It’ll be my first gift to you,” Lucius said. “I hope the first of many.”

Corvus looked up at Severus, confused, and when Severus nodded Corvus replied with a quiet: “Thank you.”

Severus was just glad the child managed to hide any recognition of the blond. He had no way of explaining that.   


* * *

“Can we talk for a moment?” Corvus asked, stopping in the middle of the flow of bodies, then eying the crowd. “Somewhere private, please?”

Severus nodded and pulled Corvus to a quieter side street which led to the more quaint shops - artisans and handcrafters sold their goods on these off-beat streets, their goods at once both rougher and more expensive than the mass-produced items of the main drag of Diagon. From there it was easy to find a quiet space between buildings, hidden from shoppers, and cast a quick privacy ward to deter eavesdroppers. Then he simply waited for his son to speak.

"It's going to look weird that I don't have anything of my own," Corvus blurted as soon as he was certain the privacy ward was up. "Even you said I wasn't unpacked yet. Malfoy's mum will certainly notice if everything I have is something she bought me."   
  
Severus knew the boy was right, what he didn't know was why Corvus looked so nervous admitting it. He was shifting his weight with his eyes darting around - classic signs of lying - yet he had a stubborn set to his jaw that spoke of determination. It was a confusing mix of signals that set Severus' teeth on edge. Particularly since the boy  _ wasn’t _ lying. Simply stating an opinion.   
  
"If you can disguise us, we can go to muggle London and get things," Corvus said. "Second-hand, so they look used. We can get them cheap." There was a pause and another weight shift. “I know I said I didn’t want any money from the bank, but I wasn’t really thinking about this. You can take the money out of my vault, if you want.”   
  
Now the boy was biting his lip and kept flicking his eyes up to Severus' face even though he was hanging his head, and Severus couldn't help it: "Am I really that scary?"   
  
"What?" Corvus asked, startled into stillness.    
  
"You're acting like I'm going to snap at you for giving the wrong answer in class. We are not in class, and more to the point you are my son. You are presenting a reasonable argument to better solidify your cover, something which should obviously not come out of your play money. You must remember you are no longer HIM," Severus lowered his voice at the last, despite the privacy wards. "Does a father snap at his son over a simple question?" As soon as he said it Severus knew the answer was 'yes' - sometimes his father snapped at him just for breathing - but the pampered child before him would never have known such abuse. 

Severus almost froze when he remembered the boy - Potter -  _ had  _ been abused. He’d gotten so caught up in his plans and transforming the boy he’d almost forgotten the reason why he’d even entertained the foolish notion in the first place. He’d seen the verbal abuse in the occulmency lessons, but those had been later. Seeing Quirrell’s death, the mind connection to the Dark Lord, the tournament - very early in the semester he’d been wondering if anyone had ever bothered to speak to the boy about such things, and then decided it wasn’t his business. Potter hid the emotional abuse fate was giving him as well as he hid his relative’s verbal slurs, likely because it wasn’t physical and there were no wounds to hide from Poppy. He hadn’t seen more than name-calling and shouting, but it had the echo of multiple memories behind it. Ringing tones of  _ worthless _ ,  _ lazy _ ,  _ Heir of Slytherin _ , and more had rattled out of the child’s mind during their lessons. And then there was that question, that lingering  _ did I kill him? _   
  
Corvus didn't answer, strangely silent as Severus gathered his thoughts. The boy’s gaze was halfway between anger and frustration. Finally he said: "I don't know how to act."   
  
"Elaborate," Severus told him, still reeling a bit over what he had forgotten.    
  
"I'm supposed to be your son, who doesn't know you and just found out you existed, but I'm really-" Severus watched as Corvus bit back on the name and glanced around "-really I've been your student for a while and I know you hate me and I know what you're like. Except sometimes now you're not like that because you know what to do. And I don't."   
  
Severus waited, but Corvus didn't say any more. It was a challenge to overcome, and Severus wished he'd had a summer - or even a winter - break make the change at a slower pace. Or that this had happened before Severus had unknowingly echoed the verbal barbs of others. But they didn’t have that luxury and he couldn’t change who he was. "Before you stated you were acting like your cousin," Severus said slowly. "That he was a bit spoiled?"   
  
Corvus nodded.   
  
"When we are around others and you are at a loss, do not think. Just behave as he would. For now, that will do." And he would have to find some way to patch this hole in their story.

Or not. Potter had long kept the secret under his tongue, only letting out hints of it once Severus had become a potential escape. It was likely he didn’t want it to be a part of his new story.

That was all to be determined later, when he had more time to think. Perhaps the hospital wing would need more stock and he could brew in peace for a few hours; that had always helped to settle his thoughts. “Where is this shop you’d like to visit?” he asked.

“It’s not a shop, exactly,” Corvus admitted. “We’ll need muggle money - do you have any?”

“A small sum, around 30 pounds. Do you require more?”

Corvus shook his head. “Can you make us look like muggles and hide our features?”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

“Then - then we’re looking for a place on the outskirts of muggle London. We may have to look around to find one still open.”

“What are we looking for?” Severus asked, confused.

“A trunk sale.”


	23. Chapter 23

“I can’t wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend,” Draco sighed, falling backwards on his bed. “Father’s promised to come pick me up so we can go shopping in that new market in Bath. I heard the best Quidditch players are staying there - they  _ must _ have exceptional flying areas.”

Crabbe dropped his bag next to his trunk and shrugged, kicking off his shoes. 

“And I’ll be able to do some more Christmas shopping, of course. I’ll have to see what Corvus - Cory - likes. He must like Quidditch, right?”

Goyle dug around in his bedside drawer until he found a muffin, brushed off the dust, and started eating.

“He’ll be sorted into Slytherin, of course. I can’t believe Dumbledore hasn’t allowed him to be sorted yet. You know Uncle Sev has to be pushing for it, and there’s no way he’d be anything else. He’s already been here four days. He looked so absolutely bored in potions today.”

“Don’t you ever shut up?” Theodore growled, bent over a pile of books (one of which was glowing pink and making his bed curtains look sickly).

“Are you ever not a prick?” Draco replied, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe when you stop waxing poetic about Snape’s kid. You’re acting like a girl with a new boyfriend,” Theodore growled, flipping a page in one book backwards to re-read a section.

Draco propped himself up on his arms to glare at the other Slytherin. “I am not. Sev’s my godfather. I’m finally getting a little  _ brother _ .”

“Surprised you didn’t ask for one of those instead,” Theodore muttered.

“I did,” Draco sighed, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of his bed. “For some reason, mother said no.”

Goyle gave him an odd look, because everyone knew Draco’s mother gave him anything he asked for. When he looked over at Crabbe, the other boy had paused in his eating to also watch the blonde Slytherin.

“Are you sure that’s how you think about him?” Theodore asked. He hadn’t even looked up from the books scattered across his bed, though he’d switched to staring at the glowing book with a frown. “You did ask for luck in love on Halloween.”

“Love with a  _ girl _ ,” Draco insisted. “I have to carry on the Malfoy name. I’m going to marry a gorgeous girl, we’re going to love each other like crazy, and have three or four kids.”

“You find girls boring, insipid, and ugly,” Blaise said as he entered the room, loosening his tie and throwing his bag on the floor next to his bed.

“There’s got to be a girl I like out there,” Draco pouted. “I just haven’t found her yet.”

“Face it: you’re doomed for a loveless marriage and an empty home,” Theodore said dryly. “Now can we stop discussing why Draco is a girl and discuss why there was a break in the Romanov line, and how that affects the Greengrass family tree? Father’s testing me on family trees over Yule and I think my translator spell is broken.”

“It’s not broken, it’s just translating badly because it’s about sex,” Blaise said. “Mom showed me the adult version of the spell two years ago - basically someone got fucked who shouldn’t have and had a squib.”

Draco scowled. “That’s foul.”

“The language, or the squib?” Theodore asked.

“Both,” Draco answered. “What time is it?”

Blaise checked the miniature grandfather clock on his bedside table. “Seven thirty. Why?”

“I’m bored, and Uncle Sev isn’t finished monitoring detentions until nine.”

“Don’t you have homework to do?” Theodore asked.

Draco shrugged. “I had a study hall for my final period, since we’re so far ahead of the other class in Runes. I think the mudblood asks a ton of questions in her period, since we spend so long waiting for them to catch up. I finished enough of my homework there, the rest should be cake.”

Crabbe perked up. “There’s cake?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Want to go flying?”

Blaise agreed, and they went to go see if any of the girls wanted to go flying while Theodore stuck his nose back in his studies.

Alone in the dorm again, he shifted the books aside to reveal what he  _ really _ wanted to look at: Professor Snape’s documented family tree. While he was a half-blood with shady allegiances, his son had Prince blood in him. From what Theodore had seen, he was also shy and meek. Corvus would be quiet, obedient, and dependent to whomever took the lost little new boy in. It helped that he was younger as well.

Unlike Draco, Theodore didn’t care about gender. He wanted a pretty little wife he could protect, one with decent bloodlines and an attitude he could take advantage of, and it looked like one had fallen right into his lap. Maybe he wouldn’t have to settle for a Hufflepuff after all.

* * *

“Hello again,” a raspy voice said from down the hall.

Corvus turned toward it and found himself facing the same man who had been in his dreams before, though this time he was better prepared. “Hello,” he greeted, then turned back to the tapestry he’d been facing. On it was a lion being chased by a deer with a snake twined around its antlers. He had no idea what that was meant to represent, but it looked strange.

“I was wondering when I would see you again.”

“Well that’s silly,” Corvus said. “You’re in my head; I might see you any time I fall asleep.”

The man walked closer, until Corvus thought they might brush against each other.

“I still think you need a healer,” Corvus said, “but you’re in my head, so I guess that means I think  _ I  _ need a healer, right?”

“And why would you need a healer?”

Corvus shrugged. “Snape thinks everything is good from the potions accident, so I should be fine, but he wants me to get a full check-up anyways. I guess I get to do that tomorrow while he teaches, though he’s been pretty strict about me staying close. And picking  _ classes _ . I still don’t get why I can’t just go back to my old school.” He pouted a bit, just like Du- his cousin would do when he thought he might not get ice cream. “It’s not fair.”

“But don’t you think it was rather unfair that you were hidden away from your father?” the man asked. “Shouldn’t he have been able to raise you and love you, since you are his son?”

Corvus scowled. “Who are you, my voice of reason?” he demanded. “I thought I’d get more sympathy from the voices in my head.”

“Hearing voices isn’t a good thing,” the man said calmly. “Tell me: what is my spy up to lately?”

Corvus frowned. “Your spy?” he asked. “Who’s that?”

“Your father.”

Corvus’ frown deepened. “He’s not a spy. He’s a teacher. And so far he’s been better than my last potions’ professor. Though he only let me brew with the first years, he let me brew a different version that he had modified - and he let me keep to potion when I was done!” Corvus grinned. “He didn’t keep it to grade it!”

The man rolled his eyes. “How fascinating.”

“What’s your name, anyways?” Corvus asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what do I call you? It’s probably not good to name the voices in my head, but I can’t keep thinking of you as ‘that guy’ either. It gets confusing.”

The man seemed to hesitate. “You can call me Marvolo,” he said.

Corvus frowned. “That’s too long,” he complained. “I’ll call you Marv. How’s that?”

Marvolo glared at him - and slammed into a memory.

_ Harry sat at the desk the houselves had moved into the bedroom with a pencil in his left hand and his right rolling his wand back and forth on the wood. It wasn’t the wand he was used to; it was his new wand, and he was still getting used to the differences between the two. The throw pillows from the couch had gotten rather battered from his attempts at spellcasting. One had ended in the fire. _

_ Slowly, he began to write.  _

_ //Hey D. _

_ I’m not sure what to say. I’ve been moved into this room off of Snape’s - I guess I should call him ‘father’ here or it’s going to get confusing - anyways, he lives down in the dungeons of this old castle, and there aren’t any windows at all. No pets, either. I heard some of the students calling him a ‘dungeon bat’, so I guess he stays down here a lot. _

_ I miss our little house with the garden, but it’s probably a good thing I’m not coming back. Who knows what would have happened to me if I’d stayed. I’d probably end up in an orphanage. Don’t tell my dad that, though. I don’t want him to think I  _ _ like _ _ it here or anything. _

_ You probably wouldn’t approve of the friends I’ve made here. You never did like me hanging out with the older boys….// _

_ Harry hesitated, his hand cramping a bit, and snorted, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t like me hanging out with anyone, did you cousin?” he asked himself. _

Corvus threw them out of the memory before his memory-self could reveal something damning. “What the hell?” he asked, not expecting an answer. “I did the stupid meditation exercises Madame Lake recommended!”

“Meditation?” Marvolo asked.

Corvus nodded. “I sometimes have nightmares, so the nurse taught me how to meditate,” he said. “It always helped me to fall asleep, and sometimes I could wake myself up by meditating in my dreams.”

Marvolo raised an eyebrow. “Show me.”

Corvus took a slow deep breath, then started putting his thoughts away into boxes.

He woke wet with sweat and panting, his scar feeling like the brush of a warm hand on his forehead.

* * *

When Severus went to wake Corvus, he found the boy already up and at the desk, staring off into nothing.

“I didn’t think you would be awake this early,” he drawled, watching his son startle. The boy needed to learn to be more aware of his surroundings. The floo in Severus’ rooms wasn’t always blocked, and a call could come through at any time.

“Had a dream,” Corvus said, looking away.

Severus took in the room, probably more so than most first-time parents. He noticed the bed, which was made and didn’t look slept in. He noticed all the clothes were put away, and the bookshelf was very neat with only one or two titles missing. The desk hardly looked disturbed, with only one letter set aside for the ink to dry. The stuffed animals hadn’t made it out and about the room, though he did see a plush bat - the one he had given Corvus to hold while his eyes were healed - set on the top of the trunk.

It didn’t look like he was settling in at all. Severus wasn’t sure if that was part of his cover as the reluctant son or if Corvus thought he was going to be evicted and Harry Potter raised from the dead.

“A dream, or a vision?”

Corvus tensed, and Severus had to wonder if he even knew the difference anymore. A lot had changed recently, and he had enough cause for strange dreams even without the added burden of pretending to be someone else even when he was sleeping.

“Probably a dream,” he finally said, and added quietly: “but Voldemort was there.”

Severus felt his shoulders tense. “Dream or not, it is not something to be taken lightly when the Dark Lord is on your mind.”

“I meditated before falling asleep, I swear.”

Severus debated calling the boy a liar, but while he would have easily accused Harry Potter of such a thing the situation had changed. Pushing his son away with accusations - even if it was just to find out the truth - could drive the boy to reveal their secrets to someone, and he couldn’t afford that sort of risk. It was possible Corvus had tried to occlude; the Dark Lord was skilled at mind magic, and the extent of the connection between the two was a mystery.

“Perhaps it is best if you have breakfast before we continue,” Severus said, mostly to give himself a moment to gather his thoughts.

The boy visibly slumped. “You don’t believe me.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I said no such thing,” he said sternly, and watched Corvus flinch. He needed to remember the boy was basically a victim of war - between the verbal abuse of his relatives, the slander of the press, the dementors, the werewolf, Quirrell, and  _ whatever _ had happened in the Chamber of Secrets, Lily would have dragged her son off to a mind healer the moment she saw him.

Not to mention the terror she would have instilled fighting for her son.

“Get some breakfast; it’s on the table,” Severus said, trying to keep his voice soft. “I need to think. Whether you tried or not is irrelevant at this point; obviously blocking the Dark Lord is not an option. I need a few moments to consider our next plan.”

“So do you believe me or not?” Corvus asked, looking sour.

“It is irrelevant.”

“I want to know.”

Severus mentally sighed, recognizing Lily’s stubborn streak rising to the surface. It was much preferred over Potter’s disregard for the rules, but it was still unwelcome. As much as he loved Lily, sometimes that stubborn streak got her into trouble. “I think it is possible, but as it is irrelevant I no longer care,” he finally said. “It is not worth the effort of discovering if you’re lying or not. I choose, therefore, to accept you have tried and he has overwhelmed your efforts.”

Corvus’ face twisted into a confused scrunch. “So do you believe me, or not?”

Severus allowed a verbal sigh to escape and rubbed a temple. It was too early for this. “Save me from the bluntness of Gryffindors. Yes, for the moment I believe you.”

“Well why didn’t you just say so?” Corvus asked, rolling his eyes and standing up. “You said breakfast is on the table?”

“Yes. I have a class this morning, and then the Headmaster has finally agreed to have you sorted early. This afternoon we will head to the Infirmary.”

“But I’m not sick!” Corvus protested.

“No, but you don’t have any records either,” Severus pointed out. “And, as you reminded me before, you have not had your magical vaccinations. You will need to receive those from the nurse, as several of the ingredients are regulated by medi-wizards.”

Corvus pouted. “Do I have to?”

“Do you want to spend a week in the infirmary when you actually do catch Dragon Pox?”

Corvus shuddered. “No.”

“Then yes, you have to. Now eat your breakfast.”

* * *

Severus gently pushed Corvus into the headmaster's office, silently hoping the boy remembered to never look Albus in the eye. It was worrying that he’d shared another dream with the Dark Lord - two in three nights! - but he had to put that out of his mind for the moment. He’d worry about it after the sorting and after Madame Pomfrey explained how a healthy 15-year-old boy could be  _ underweight _ for a  _ 14-year-old _ . 

As they stepped into the room he felt his lip curl before he could help himself; the werewolf was in the office again. "I thought we had an appointment," Severus almost growled. 

"Careful, Severus," Lupin replied, though he sounded hoarse. "You'll sound more like a wolf than I do, snarling like that."

"If that was supposed to be a joke, you need to relearn humor," Severus stated tersely. “Generally humor causes people to laugh.”

"Just an observation," Remus said gently. "Is this your son?"

Severus felt Corvus hesitate. Remus had been his best defense professor (even Severus could grudgingly admit that), and a friend of his father. It was hard to forget that. Severus understood, and had to simply hope the child could keep up. "He is. Corvus, this is Lupin. Be careful never to be in the same room as him. He is a werewolf."

"Severus!" Albus scolded. 

"He is my son, headmaster," Severus countered. "I will not have him running around unaware."

"It's all right," Lupin said, leaning forward. "It's nice to meet you Corvus," he said to the boy. Severus was grateful he refrained from attempting to shake Corvus' hand. "Your father's right, I'm a werewolf. He brews a potion for me to help, but he's still very cautious."

Corvus bit his lip for a moment, glanced at Severus, then said: "Nice to meet you."

Remus smiled, though it looked strained. "I believe you were here to be sorted?" he asked. "Severus has probably told you all sorts of stories about Gryffindor. I assure you, only half of them are true."

"He hasn't said much, actually," Corvus said. "Draco's the one who told me about the houses."

"Really now? Well, your father has traits from each of the houses, so you won't be out of place no matter where you're sorted." 

"I find that hard to believe," Corvus said. "The way Draco talks, if I get Gryffindor I may as well be disowned."

"Not true," the headmaster cut in sternly. "Why, just a few years ago your father very bravely faced a werewolf to protect several students."

"And yet said werewolf is still in this very room!" Severus cut in, gripping Corvus' shoulder hard. "Honestly, Albus, must we do this? He is to be sorted."

"Of course, of course," the headmaster said. "Sit down, my boy. The old hat is around here somewhere."

He had to look in three doors and behind two bookcases before he found the hat hiding behind a flurry of silver trinkets on a shelf. "Here we are!" Albus said. "We'll just put this on your head then..."

Severus waited as the hat sank down over the boy's eyes, hiding the brilliant green that reminded him of-

"Lily," Remus said softly. "He smells like Lily."

Severus almost panicked. "Speak clearly, wolf," he chided. "This is my son."

"Yes, and he clearly smells of you. He is definitely yours. But he also reminds me of Lily. Not like Harry did - that was a faint, lingering softness. This - this is fresh, and bright, and-" he was almost in tears when the hat interrupted, shouting: "Slytherin!"

Corvus lifted the brim and turned to him grinning. 

Severus found himself grinning right back. 

* * *

Harry-Corvus didn't realize he was grinning until he saw Snape's lip curl upward into a look he's only ever seen Uncle Vernon give Dudley. Even if he was unsure, Snape was acting like his father and Corvus had promised himself he would try too. The hat had seen his potential for Slytherin once more, and seemed glad to "fix" his house. 

Which meant they'd done it. They'd resorted him without anyone noticing it wasn't his first sorting.

"That settles it," Snape said. "You'll move into the dorms tomorrow."

Harry's grin faltered for a moment, tempered by the thought that Snape seemed eager to be rid of him. He should have expected it, he realized; Snape’s son was due to arrive any day now. Snape must have pushed to get his sorting moved forward, since today was only Wednesday and Snape had said at first it would be Friday. Snape even had a seventh year monitoring his first year class in the dungeons to make time for it.

Remus must have seen his frown because he started to protest. “Surely that isn’t necessary-”

“He’ll be much more comfortable in a room with his peers than isolated in my rooms. Besides, with the memorial service coming up the younger students could use a distraction.”

Remus was giving Harry a sad look, and Harry -  _ Corvus _ \- looked away. “I don’t mind,” he said. “I haven’t met everyone in the dorms yet.”

“A compromise, then, since you aren’t due to start classes until Monday. You can spend the evenings and nights with your father, and during the day you can stay in the dorm to meet your housemates,” Dumbledore offered, smiling.

Corvus shrugged and looked to Snape.

“He moves into the dorms Saturday at the latest,” Snape said, looking directly at Harry. “I won’t have you accused of getting special treatment.”

Harry nodded, and stood when Snape gestured for them to leave. It wasn’t until they were back in the safety of their rooms that Snape spoke up again: “You will, of course, be permitted to  _ return _ to your room whenever you damn well please.”

Harry blinked, confused. “Sir?”

“Your room, Corvus.”

“But-”

“But what?”

Harry hesitated. Snape seemed a bit worked up, and asking questions was never really a good idea when someone was mad, but he had to know. “You mean the room in here?”

“Yes, your room in my quarters. What part of ‘your room’ was unclear?” Snape snapped.

“Well, it’s just - won’t it be occupied?”

Snape seemed to slow down, the scowl turning to a frown as he turned towards Harry. “By whom?”

“Your son.”


	24. Chapter 24

"So it is Harry then?" Albus asked thoughtfully. For a moment he'd even looked hopeful.    
  
"No," Remus replied with confidence.    
  
"No? But you said he smelled of Lily," Albus returned, surprised. 

"Yes, Lily and  _ Severus _ ," Remus explained. "I don't know why, only what my wolf tells me. He might be a wild creature, but in this he is clear: that boy and Harry share a mother, but not a father." Fifteen years ago Remus would have said that was impossible. An hour ago he would have sworn the same. Now the possibilities were running through his mind faster than he could process them. Was it possible? He’d never thought so before.

"Perhaps a potion?" Albus suggested. 

Remus considered the idea then shook his head. "It's more than just scent, I can't explain any better than that. The wolf knows." Though the smell wasn't really explicit the way magic usually was. The scent between the two his inner wolf knew meant “pack”, and the boy’s was clearly a pup’s scent with the lingering traces of his sire and the mother. 

"Lily never had a second child," Albus said gently. "We would have known."   
  
"Would we?" Remus asked, considering the possibility. It hurt to think that Lily would have had a child without telling them, but it was wartime, and she knew they were a target, and she was smart. "Consider this: they were in hiding for almost a year; even their friends rarely saw them. And we weren't looking for glamors to hide pregnancy. She wouldn't have even needed to try very hard.”

"How, then?" Albus asked after a pause. "They were not intimate, surely. Lily and James were happily married. Are you certain he’s not Harry?"

Remus bristled a bit at what his wolf saw as a challenge and had to clench his fists to keep his beast tamed. “As sure as I am of magic. I would know my pup, no matter what magic had tried to hide him.”

“I was hoping you would say otherwise,” Albus sighed.

“Why? Severus verified that Harry died of natural causes. He was ill, Albus, and you never told me or Sirius - you  _ know  _ how much we care for him! And now you’re trying to replace him? To the point Severus is getting  _ ministry _ potions to prove the boy’s heritage. What good does it do anyone to keep pushing?” He began pacing, full of angry energy, mostly frustrated that he hadn’t even known Harry was sick - and now he couldn’t even say goodbye properly.

“I’d rather assume Severus was trying to protect Harry than worry that Voldemort is manipulating Severus again,” Albus said sadly. “I am sorry I did not tell you about Harry, but we had thought it was a minor illness. He put on a brave face, and we didn’t realize the depth of the problem. He was meant to rejoin his friends shortly, in fact.”

The wolf in Remus snarled, and Remus couldn’t hold back his own disappointment. “He was sick for weeks, Albus. Any other child would be asking for company, for his parents. You wouldn’t let us talk to him after Cedric died, and then you don’t let us see him when he’s unable to attend classes? And now you’re doing everything you can to make someone believe Severus is duping us all. Please, Albus. Just admit we failed.” Remus slumped into a chair, tired and feeling heavy. His eyes hurt.

“If only I could,” Albus answered, “but I cannot see how it is possible that Severus and Lily had a child.”   
  
"James was gifted with potions, when he ever cared to make an effort,” Remus sighed. “Part of Severus' determination to do well in the field was to show up James. With the right ingredients, he could have done it. What I can't figure out is why - or how he got the ingredients from Severus." Remus’ mind was reminding him that it was wartime, and Severus had played spy for both sides. Openly. That was a very dangerous position - and Voldemort was not known for being kind. He had liked to play mind games with his followers. Albus had already admitted he feared Voldemort was manipulating Severus again. Then he saw Albus’ face and was distracted from the thought. “You know something,” he accused. “What is it?”

“Only that James did have access to all the necessary ingredients from Severus,” the older man admitted. “That’s all I can say on the matter.”

Remus narrowed his eyes but didn’t push. If Albus wouldn’t say - and there seemed to be a lot not being said - then he would go directly to the source. But he did have to mention, especially since Albus seemed to want to harp on it: "There is another, darker theory."   
  
Albus raised his eyebrow, silently asking Remus to continue.    
  
"Severus slept with someone polyjuiced as Lily - perhaps even thought she was Lily - and Corvus was the result." That actually made Remus’ heart hurt a bit. Had it happened? Severus had been so in love with Lily during school...

"Continued consumption during the early stages would give the fetus the polyjuiced mother’s features rather than the birth mother's," Albus agreed sadly.    
  
"Severus may not have known until later - until he saw Lily and asked even. He was secluded, depressed, and in no fit state to ask questions. He would have welcomed her until she slipped up. You remember how fond he was of her.”   
  
Albus sighed. "I think I preferred the theory of Lily having a second son," he replied sadly.    
  
"Why?" Remus asked, confused. Both theories were depressing and placed Severus in a difficult position. Either Lily had a son with Severus he didn't know about - without his consent, possibly - or Voldemort had been crueler to Severus than the man was willing to admit. Or Severus had fallen into a form of self-torture and Corvus was the result. That theory was best kept away from Albus’ ears, however. "Aside from the obvious effect the potion has on the fetus, neither theory displays an obvious threat.”

“Not an obvious one, but this second theory indicates Voldemort had an influence over the boy since he was conceived. And he still might."

Remus hung his head, taking a deep fortifying breath to calm his warring emotions. The grief and confusion were still too strong, and he felt irrationally angry at being kept in the dark. He locked the anger in a cage and slammed the door shut, ignoring the howls on the other side. “For now, at least, I am grateful they are just theories,” he said.

But after this meeting he was going to get some real answers. Unlike the headmaster, Remus didn’t fear being direct with Severus. The potions’ bat already hated him, being direct wouldn’t change anything.

* * *

Severus was furious. The audacity of that wolf! He was acting as if Severus were banishing his son, exiling him to the Slytherin dorms. For all the wolf knew, Corvus might  _ want _ to be with his peers! And didn’t the wolf realize most children were already whispering about the student permitted his own room in a professor’s suite? Worse still, to say he smelled of Lily - even more than Potter did! What a foolish notion. A wolf’s senses didn’t spill the secrets of ancestry!

Then again, maybe it was a Gryffindor thing. If so - “You will, of course, be permitted to return to your room whenever you damn well please,” Severus snarled as he stormed into his suite, only noticing his language had slipped after he had spoken.

Surely the boy was old enough to handle a curse word or two.

When he heard the confused ‘sir’ Severus deliberately chose to assume Corvus hadn’t fully heard him. “Your room, Corvus.”

“But-”

“But what?” Severus snapped, annoyed. Would he get some sob story now about how he wanted his own room outside Severus’ quarters? Or that his friends couldn’t visit him here?

“You mean the room in here?”

The boy was being deliberately obtuse, Severus was sure. “Yes, your room in my quarters.” It wasn’t like he had a room anywhere else! Well, not that he would have access to during the school year. “What part of ‘your room’ was unclear?” Gryffindors!

“Well, it’s just-” the boy sounded hesitant, and he was biting his lip again in that nervous manner. Just what was wrong now? “-won’t it be occupied?”

Severus froze. Had the Headmaster said something? Another student? Had someone implied the room was only temporary? Or was this some sort of ploy to get more information from him? If it was, Severus couldn’t see the purpose of it. “By whom?” he asked, watching Corvus’ face carefully.

“Your son,” the boy said as if it were completely obvious.

What. The. Fuck.

Severus stared at Corvus at a complete loss, utterly confused. “Corvus, you are my son.”

Green eyes fell to stare at the ground. “I know.”

“So you will be unable to come to your room… because you are occupying it?” Was he daft?

“No,” the boy practically growled. “I meant your other son.”

“What other son?” Who had put such a foolish notion in the boy’s head - and how by magic had he believed such a thing?

“Your real son.”

Severus sent a prayer up to every god he knew for patience. “We are going to sit down and discuss this until I figure out what’s rattling around in that empty head of yours,” Severus stated firmly. “Go to the kitchen and wait for me to ward the rooms and block the floo.”

“Yes sir.”

The response was almost meek, and set Severus’ teeth on edge. He absolutely hated being blindsided by information, and when he found out who had convinced Corvus he wasn’t a “real” son he would wring their necks.

Or poison them. Slowly. It depended on how much damage they’d done.

* * *

Harry shifted nervously in his chair as he waited for Snape to finish the extra privacy wards this conversation apparently needed. Snape had looked angry, and Harry almost laughed at himself for feeling desperate to please the man. Hadn’t he learned from the Dursleys that it was impossible to please adults? Yet he felt a nervous bubble in his chest and found himself mentally reciting his new name. Blast, but it was actually easier to pretend in front of Voldemort - at least Voldemort didn’t care which hand he wrote with!

Finally Snape sat across from him at the kitchen table, rubbing a temple, and for the first time Harry realized he looked… stressed. Well, Harry wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing and Snape was already angry. “What’s his name?”

“He does not exist, foolish child.”

“But-” Harry hesitated. There  _ wasn’t _ a real son? Really? “But - are you  _ sure _ ?”

Snape glared at him. “I would think I should know how many potential children I have. You are my only son. What I don’t know is why you think otherwise. Explain, and start at the beginning.”

Harry reacted instinctively: “Once upon a time, Momma and Pappa Potter had a son.”

Snape’s eyebrow twitched. “It seems you’ve spent enough time with the mutt to pick up on his brand of humor. Better that than his pranks, I suppose.”

“I’ve actually only spent a few days with him,” Harry said. “And then it was with Mrs. Weasley watching to make sure he, well, she said ‘behaved’.”

“As interesting as that is, it is beside the point. Wherever did you get the idea that I had another son?”

Harry hesitated.

“The truth, if you please,” Snape said. “If you’re going to lie, don’t take time to construct it.”

“I’m not lying,” Harry insisted. “I just - I don’t  _ know _ .” Of course, Snape didn’t appear to believe it so Harry pressed on: “I’ve been in the hospital wing for weeks and could barely talk to my friends through letters, much less hear about anything happening. Of course I heard about your son coming - probably to be great friends with Malfoy and get a ton of points for Slytherin - but I still didn’t know if I was your heir yet.”

“And it never occurred to you that my son was you, even  _ after _ spending the night in my rooms, being introduced as my son, and spending time with Draco yourself?”

“Why should it have?” Harry bit out, realizing they were getting closer and closer to their usual arguments but not knowing how to stop it. “It’s not like you actually tell me anything!”

Snape’s mouth was a tight line, and it felt like he was sucking the air out of the room. It was hard for Harry to breathe for a moment. “If you are going to survive in Slytherin there are two crucial items you must learn,” Snape said, and though Harry could have sworn the man was going to hex him to bits the potions master had made no move towards his wand. “One: you must control that temper of yours. Two: you must pick up the subtle cues.”

“If you’d just said-”

“You are a Slytherin now,” Snape interrupted. “There won’t be any handholding or explaining. You will be expected to know without grand gestures. Do you even know the importance of Draco spending the night with you that first night?”

Harry startled, feeling his back hit the chair with a slight thump. “What do you mean?”

“Draco spent the night with you. Not in any scandalous way,” he continued, rolling his eyes when Harry looked wide-eyed and scared, “but in a protective one. He’s been speaking well of you and spreading word of you that puts you in a good light - and puts his reputation on the line. More than that, it shows a strong connection between the two of you. Others will look to how you interact carefully to further define the relationship, to find where you stand and how you fit in their circles.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“You did it in Gryffindor, though there the lines were much more clear and the gestures more obvious.”

“We did not!”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Quidditch players. Yearmates. Those who shared the same classes. Did you not group yourselves together by such factors?”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “You make it sound different.”

“In Slytherin, everything matters. The smallest action can have large repercussions. You’ve started to pick that up somewhat. I suspect that’s how you’ve begun to build Corvus. But Gryffindor stubbornness is keeping you from noticing the obvious.”

Harry frowned. “I thought I wasn’t a Gryffindor anymore?”

“Yes, well, it will take more than a new name and a few body changes to wash out the red and gold,” Snape said dryly. “You’re going to have to work at it. Hard. No slacking like you do in class.”

“I can do it,” Harry insisted. “And I don’t slack in class.”

Snape’s lip curled up in a half sneer. “Prove it.”

“How?” It was barely a whisper, and Harry knew it was the last question he would dare to ask. He couldn’t push his luck - he’d pushed it enough as it was - but he wasn’t expecting the knock at the door.

Snape looked cross again, and Harry hoped he hadn’t heard the question. He didn’t want to get made fun of or called an idiot or a simpleton again. But the curses under Snape’s breath were about wolves, so it didn’t seem to matter. “To your room, Corvus. I’ll deal with this annoyance and then you can have lunch with Draco before we see Madame Pomphrey.”

Harry frowned. He kind of wanted to see Remus. 

“Go, Corvus. Don’t forget, to him you are no longer the son of his best friend.”

“To Remus it wouldn’t matter,” Harry said.

“ _ Go. _ ”

Harry stormed off and slammed his door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many apologies for the delay. Life has been rough lately, and I simply haven't had the time I needed.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay!!!
> 
> Merry Christmas, everyone!

“Crucio,” Voldemort intoned duly. He watched the healer squirm on the floor, feeling very little in the way of satisfaction. The healer’s answers had been disappointing at best, so the only way to sate his anger was to make the man suffer. The fact that he would need to wipe the man’s memory later made the act feel bitter and tasteless.

Voldemort preferred his enemies remember the pain he caused. It was much more effective that way, and helped them remember to fear him.

He ended the spell and watched the blonde wizard gasp for breath, tears running down the man’s face. “Care to revise your answer?” Voldemort asked. “Remember, you are dealing with a Dark Lord. I know spells which can make you feel much worse.”

“No - no one has studied this - this form of magic,” the man said, panting hard enough his words seemed to stutter. “It would take time to find the right combination of spells, potions, and treatments.”

That was not the answer Voldemort had been looking for. Magic was limitless - it could do anything when given the proper guidance. Unfortunately the Ministry had regulated education down to the point where new graduates were hardly better than any creature only barely passing the LLAMA scores. Anything wandless, or potentially harmful, or (most commonly) untraceable was regarded as ‘dark’ and illegal. And anything new had to be tested to the point where an inventor hardly ever saw his creations go to market. 

Which made finding it all the more difficult.

Annoyed, Voldemort flicked his wand again and sent another wordless crucio towards the healer.

No matter. He would find a way. If he was to make his new plan work, he would need to. Glamors and charms would only work for so long; they took magic to maintain and those with the right Sight could see through them. While it was highly improbable that the boy had the Sight, Dumbledore certainly did. He needed a way to talk to the boy without looking like a monster from a fairy tale.

Struck by a thought, Voldemort ended the pain curse. “Tell me, mediwizard: how much do you know about dream magic?”

* * *

Severus scowled as he opened the door. As he expected, it was the wolf on the other side looking haggard in his patched robe with hair that looked like it had barely seen a brush. Severus himself knew he could hardly comment on hygiene, but at least he managed decent clothes and an attempt at cleanliness.

“We need to talk,” the wolf demanded.

“I have to disagree,” Severus said. “There’s nothing I wish to discuss with you.” He tried to close the door, but despite looking like a homeless beggar Lupin was physically strong enough to prevent Severus from pushing the door shut.

“It’s about your son. And Albus.”

Severus glanced towards Corvus’ room. As he had asked the boy had gone off to his room, though it was a stormy exit with a slammed door. The door was open now, though, and he had no doubt that Corvus was on the other side listening. “We are about to eat lunch, and then we have an appointment with the nurse. If you wish to schedule an appointment to discuss the headmaster - “

“He’s your son, Severus, and I  _ need _ an explanation for that.”

“You need no such thing.”

“Severus-”

“It is not your concern, wolf.”

Remus stepped closer. “Albus believes he is Harry,” he whispered harshly. “He’s desperate to prove it to someone.”

The potions master narrowed his eyes and took a step back. “As you ask,” he said in a clear voice, in his normal tone, “I will brew the wolfsbane for you. But  _ only _ this month as you will be near students and my son. Don’t expect such favors again.”

The wolf backed up, his eyes sad and his shoulders slumped. “Please-”

“You can return for it after the wake. It’s best fresh.”

Lupin seemed to hold his breath for a moment, then said: “Let me join you for lunch?”

“He is not James Potter’s son.”

“I realize that,” the wolf said. “But Sirius is busy in London and I can't be around the students. Even your company is better than eating alone.”

“Unfortunately yours is not.”

“We used to be friends, Severus.”

“Until you tried to kill me.”

Lupin closed his eyes. “Fine,” he said. He let out a harsh breath, then opened them again to stare Severus in the eye. “Be this way. Be an unforgiving bastard. Hopefully your son will grow to be a better man.”

* * *

“It's nice to meet you, Madame Pomfrey,” Harry said uncertainly. This was his first meeting with her as Corvus, but surely she would notice the potion that kept him from looking like Harry, or notice the similarities between his old injuries and Harry’s old injuries. He just couldn't understand why Snape was insisting on the checkup; it seemed like he was deliberately trying to sabotage them. 

“It's nice to meet you as well, young man, though I hope not to see you too often,” the nurse replied. “Would you like your father to stay? You're old enough I can shoo him off if you'd like, though he will be hearing the results one way or another.”

Harry shrugged. If Snape was going to hear about it anyway, he didn't see any reason to make the older man leave. While Harry had been expected to care for himself, Corvus (and Harry too, technically) was still a minor and Snape was his guardian. 

“I'll be staying,” Snape said firmly when Harry-Corvus failed to give a verbal response. 

The nurse waited a few moments - likely to see if Corvus would protest - then said: “Alright then. Up on the bed you go.”

Harry frowned. He'd been to enough of Dudley’s physicals when they were young to know there were a few steps missing. “You don't need to take my height or weigh me first?”

“We have spells for that,” the nurse said as she pulled out a few potions. “And no need to make faces at these. While they may look unappealing, they only taste halfway like old socks.”

Harry but back a laugh, then decided it was okay to joke back a bit - since he was Corvus. “What does the other half taste like then? Moldy bread?”

The nurse smiled down at him. “Close, but don't tell your father that. He brews them for me.”

“I brew them for usefulness, not to be taken like candy,” Snape said dryly. 

“Yes, yes,” the nurse said, rolling her eyes. “Just try and make them so students don’t choke on them or need anti-nausea potions afterwards, would you? Fat lot of good it does me if they can’t keep down what I give them!”

It sounded like an old argument, and Corvus guessed it was being played out to calm him down. That thought was even more likely when the nurse turned and winked at him. “Up on the bed, now. Let’s see how healthy you are.”

* * *

“Clara was right, Severus; he's underweight,” Poppy said sadly. The boy had already been sent to the Slytherin common room with one of his housemates, but Severus had lingered for Poppy’s full report. The part she didn’t tell the students.

“That's not possible,” Severus countered. Albus had put the boy with family, and he was older than he was pretending to be. If anything he should be  _ over _ weight.

“An average 14 year old is 8 stone,” she said. “He's a bit short for his age, but not enough to account for how much he is underweight. He's less than 7 stone.”

Severus waited a beat, processing the information. If Corvus was underweight, then  _ Potter _ had been severely underweight and the nurse had made no mention of it. In fact, Severus himself couldn’t even recall thinking Potter as small for his age. While it did help them to keep up the ruse, it did raise some very interesting questions. This wasn’t the time to ask them, nor the person who held the answers; instead Severus focused on Corvus’ exam: “Was there anything unusual with his exam? Other than the fact that he is underweight?” Most importantly, had she noticed any similarities between Corvus and Potter? Severus could erase the memories, but it would be tricky to so without her noticing the gap.

Thankfully, Poppy shook her head. “He is amazingly healthy otherwise. There is some evidence of prior injuries - for example, some of his bones in his right foot have been broken before - but that's not unusual. Boys do tend to get into scrapes sometimes. The only injury currently healing is the wound from the potion accident.”

“You have all you need, then?”

“I do, but you need to make sure that boy eats!”

Severus nodded. “I'll remind him not to miss meals.”

“Don't scold him, Severus,” Poppy said. “I know you. Be nice.”

Severus lifted one eyebrow and left his face carefully blank. 

“Oh! Just shoo, you little brat. It was bad enough when you were a student,” Poppy said with a small chuckle. 

* * *

Harry hesitated for a moment, then spoke the password and entered the Slytherin common room.  _ Keep your cover _ , he reminded himself.  _ You are Corvus, son of Severus Snape. Left handed, raised by your grandparents, hiding amongst muggles. You lived in America. Use your left hand. _ He stepped into the room and surveyed the students mingling about. Classes were still in session, but some of his new housemates had a free period it seemed; either that or they were skipping classes. Harry was sorry to say he didn’t know them well enough to know which was most likely.

“Corvus!” a voice called, and Harry-Corvus turned towards the blonde girl who had called for him. She waved him down to a black leather chair before a fireplace crackling with a hearty flame. Harry-Corvus wrapped his cloak closer around himself - the dungeons were cold! - and made his way to her and her friends.

“Hello,” he said softly, surveying the group. There were five of them, all around the same age. Harry guessed they were the fourth year Slytherins.

“So you’re Professor Snape’s son,” Giles asked, looking Harry over critically. “You any good at Quidditch?”

The interrogation had started, and as much as Harry loved flying, he had dreaded this question. He didn’t want to play against Gryffindors - who still felt like his housemates - and he didn’t think he could stand taking orders from Malfoy. Besides, it wasn’t really Quidditch he loved. “I like to fly,” he finally said, “but I really don’t like all the attention and shouting that goes with matches.”

“Good,” Giles said decisively. “We’ve got two players graduating this year, and we don’t need any more competition for the spots.”

Harry blinked. “Oh.” 

“My name’s Persina,” said the girl who had called him over. “Persina Simmons. Don’t mind Jeff,” she added, nodding to the one who had introduced himself as Giles when he and Harry had first met. “He’s hoping to get scouted for a Quidditch team so he can be a lazy bum the rest of his life. Did you get assigned to a study group yet? I noticed you spent a lot of time with Crabbe and Goyle the other day.”

“Study group?” Harry -  _ Corvus _ \- asked. 

Persina nodded. “Professor Snape assigns us study groups where we can share notes if we’re sick or help each other with assignments. Some of the study groups are across years, but most of them are all students in the same year.

“Not as much this year,” said a blonde boy H- _ Corvus _ hadn’t been introduced to yet. “Didn’t you notice? Only five first years - two study groups with mixed first and second years.”

“Why so few?” Corvus asked, thinking to his own Gryffindor year mates. That was what, half?

“A lot of parents are sending their kids to other schools,” Giles - or was it Jeff? - said. “I heard all the Wiltshires went to Durmstrang this year.”

“And the Gardalias!” Persina said. “They traveled to France and bought a villa there. I heard it’s very lovely - and that Beaubaxtons offers dueling!”

“Cutter was going to be a sixth year, but he got personal tutors,” someone else grumbled. “Honestly, I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.”

“He probably didn’t want anyone to see he’d flunked his owls,” Persina said, rolling her eyes. “Bet you two sickles he’s at the owls this year to retake the exams.”

“You’re on,” the brunette said, slapping her palm in agreement.

Harry felt a bit left out as they continued to discuss classmates - including fifth years - he didn’t have to pretend to not know. He only recognized a handful of names, and those he’d only been introduced to. 

In Gryffindor Harry had only had a few friends, though he could at least name most of his housemates. By first name, at least. Well, mostly his yearmates and the Quidditch players.

“Was it this bad at your old school?” a new voice crept in, and Harry -  _ Corvus _ \- looked over his shoulder to see Knott standing there.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, though his yearmates seemed too caught up with each other to notice.

“The gossipping, of course,” Knott said. 

Harry shrugged. “Everyone talks. Not everyone tells the truth, though.”

“Too true. You may want to wrap it up, however. Malfoy’s coming to get you for lunch.”

“Why?” Harry asked, honestly confused. Couldn’t Snape trust him to get to the Great Hall on his own?

“Hell if I know. Something about brothers,” Knott said, grumbling a bit. He grabbed his bag and walked to the dorms.

“Strange,” Persina said. “Knott doesn’t usually hang around the younger students. Wonder what he’s up to?”

“How do you know he’s up to anything?” Harry asked.

“It’s Theodore,” GIles said. “He’s always doing something. The question is if it’s good or bad.”


	26. Chapter 26

Severus frowned at his breakfast. The discussion with Madame Pomphrey worried him slightly, and he had yet to find a good opportunity to discuss the dilemma with his son. If he were being honest with himself, he was having a hard time remembering the boy was abused, and an even harder time imagining the extent of the damage despite having seen glimpses in Potter’s mind. Were it anyone of significant magical education he would have suspected a charm to redirect his thoughts, but that was well beyond the education of a fifth year and accidental magic wasn’t that precise.

No, his problem was owning up to his dead ghost that he’d let her son stew in that wretched place for so long without even checking on him. He could see Lily shaking her head, red hair waving, and clicking her tongue at him. Severus had promised her he would try, but he really had no idea how to raise a child - how to be a father. It wasn’t like he had a stellar role model himself, and those role models he did have were either manipulative or cruel. So he’d put off some rather important health discussions in favor of things he did know.

It wasn’t even a ruse; he truly had been quite busy. He was brewing Wolfsbane, after all, since he wasn’t about to let the wolf stay in the castle without it. He had also spent a few good hours reading through the texts Lucius had sent him; one did not make excuses to the Dark Lord when one was given a task. That work has to be hidden from Albus, and he had to keep an eye on Corvus to be sure he wasn't getting into trouble.

Then there was classes, grading, and reviewing Corvus’ work. Meals and detentions to supervise. Brats roaming the castle and getting into trouble.

In short, he had gotten very little sleep and spent most of his time only on urgent matters.

Corvus was eating, at least; he was sitting at the Slytherin table and awkwardly managing fielding questions, eating with his left hand, and trying not to bump into his neighbors. He had at least improved on using his left hand more often. Had they been alone, Severus would have been tempted to stick his right to his back or to his chair. There would never be an opportunity for such training, however.

Corvus had actually agreed to move into the dorms a night early, though Severus had tried not to push for it. Severus was certain the boy was growing uncomfortable being so close to his old potions’ master for so long; Corvus still had trouble separating _Severus_ from _Professor Snape_. There had been no repeats of what Severus referred to as the ‘ice cream incident’ and Corvus seemed determined to think of him as ‘the dungeon bat.’ In the end, Corvus hadn’t even been willing to choose his own elective. Severus had done so for him.

Was that a result of his relatives mistreating him? It seemed unlikely, but it was hard to be sure. As he went through classes Severus would discover more, but he could already tell from the boy’s essays that he was better than Severus had assumed. Without his classmates to use as a gauge, his son took some interesting leaps - some good, some bad, but none seen in his usual writing. He was capable of learning; that much was obvious. But he wasn’t really opening up and making friends with anyone, even his new dorm-mates. Draco was making progress, but today was the day of the funeral.

More than ever, Corvus would be tempted to reveal his true self. He would be tempted to comfort his friends and to be offended on his own behalf. It would be one hell of a test.

Mentally, Severus took a breath and reviewed all that had happened so far.

First, the brat of James Potter showed how messed up life can be by getting an unusual result with the paternal ink potion. He was assigned extra lessons by Dumbledore to hide the fact that Severus was working to find out why. And also to cover up that Severus was teaching him to shield his mind (which Severus was trying very hard to forget - for multiple reasons).

Then, in the course of those lessons, Severus found out that the boy was being tortured (abused) by a farce of a defense professor (sorry excuse for relatives).

Next he had planted the idea in Lucius’ mind that the school needed to be investigated, and started the groundwork for his son to come to Hogwarts (inherit what little he owned). He had worked as quickly as possible, meaning he had been a bit sloppy.

Severus took a bite of his eggs and realized he would need to build a stronger background for Corvus. It could withstand a light probe right now, but that wouldn’t hold up to the Dark Lord’s abilities. There were too many holes in the story. He still had that contact in Salem. She was willing to say Corvus had attended, but no more. Perhaps Severus could visit her to give proof Corvus had been there. Perhaps he could even take Corvus with him for a few weeks over winter break, let him meet some of the other students, take a winter class and a few tests to give him a record in SAMM’s books.

Corvus would have to go with him so he could make fast friends with other students - gain a few pen pals, even - and they would be able to say he’d attended with them. It would give truth to the lie, and perhaps gain him a few penpals he could talk to who were not familiar with “Harry Potter”. Somehow Severus would have to plan the trip without raising any suspicion. Maybe Corvus could take some summer classes over there while Severus refilled their potion stores? Complete any tests Salem kept on record and interact with the other students again, in less formal settings. He was certain the Headmistress at Salem would think it a fair deal, and resolved to write to her that evening. Winter break was only a month away, and if Severus was to get Corvus enrolled in a short winter camp then he would need to work quickly.

The hoot of the morning owls broke Severus from his thoughts and he managed to prevent one letter from falling into his eggs. That did not, unfortunately, prevent the other two from landing in his oatmeal. One he recognized as being from St. Mungo’s, and assumed it was his copy of the official record of Corvus’ vaccinations. Cleaning the letter and putting that one away for later, he opened the one with the official ministry seal first. It was a formal letter of apology for the incident with Corvus (a week after - unusually quick for any official ministry notice), and official notification that the request to ban Fletcher from Hogwarts had been accepted.

Severus frowned. He’d requested no such thing. Fletcher was a member of the order - Dumbledore wasn’t about to allow him to be banned no matter how much Severus desired it.

“Something vexing you, my boy?” the Headmaster asked, as if drawn to thoughts about himself.

“Merely a small case of… confusion,” Severus admitted. “The Aurors sent a notice that the request to ban Fletcher from Hogwarts for his actions against my son has been accepted,” Severus explained, quietly pleased to see the old man frown for a moment. “I had assumed any such notice would go to you, as the one who filed the request.”

“Actually, I filed it on your behalf,” Castor admitted from down the table. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t file it yourself, Severus. Are such matters usually left to the Headmaster?”

Severus turned his gaze to the new professor. “Thank you for your actions, then. Due to my former role, the Aurors prefer not to deal with me personally, I’m afraid.”

Castor’s frown deepened. “Surely they would have accepted your complaint.”

“Accepted it, yes. I doubt they would have taken any action, however.”

“And that is the most likely course,” the Headmaster interrupted. “A first time offense rarely results in an official ban; it is likely a simple ministry error - you know how they are with paperwork. Items are misfiled or incorrectly filled out all the time. I should receive official notice in my office if he is truly banned, but it’s likely just a mix up.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that, Headmaster,” Castor said, though his face said he was anything but surprised. “One would think, as Headmaster, the safety of your students would be above all else.”

“Of course it is, but I doubt an Auror needs to be banned for a misunderstanding.”

“For his incompetence, then,” Severus said, sipping his coffee, appetite lost. “Aurors should be better trained than that.”

“Agreed,” Castor said, raising his glass. Severus nodded to him, then with a flick of his wand cleaned the last letter. It was from the defense professor sitting down the table.

“You do realize it is hardly necessary to write a missive to someone sitting three seats down?” Severus asked, tapping the thick parchment against the table.

“Ah - but putting something on paper is a good way to make sure the words are headed,” Castor said. “After all, I would hate to be… misunderstood.”

Severus wasn’t sure what to make of that.

With one last look at his son, Severus stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll read it later. I must ensure my students are prepared for the activities today. Tempers are known to be unstable at a funeral, particularly in the young. Professor Castor, thank you again for your consideration of my son’s wellbeing.”

Castor nodded in acknowledgement. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

The knock on his door immediately after breakfast was both bothersome and predictable. Severus hardly expected the wolf to wait for the appointed time, after all - with the funeral today, Lupin would be a mess. All Severus could hope for was that the man didn’t break down and cry in the middle of his sitting room.

“You let your son stay with his classmates today?” the wolf asked when Severus opened the door, not bothering to give Severus a greeting.

Severus scowled as the other man entered his room without invitation, irked at the hidden accusation in the wolf’s words. “He was never confined here, and it’s not as if the rest of the students are in class.”

“But - it’s today,” the wolf pointed out.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Yes. It’s today. A day away from tomorrow and a day past yesterday. I was unaware you had lost your sense of time, but that’s what happens when you deal with animals.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Lupin said sternly. “The funeral, Severus. Are you sure it’s wise to let him mingle with the other students when so many will be grieving?”

“Perhaps I just find it best he be kept away from the likes of you,” Severus drawled. “Your despair leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Tell me, wolf, do you mourn the loss of James or James’ son more?”

“Severus-” it was a near growl, but the wolf didn’t say more.

“What’s the matter?” Severus couldn’t help but prod. “Wolf got your tongue?”

“If you’d stop being a bitter, crotchety old arse maybe we could discuss the point of this visit. Your son.”

“Yes, my son. Funny how Potter isn’t even in the ground yet and you’re already trying to replace him. Do you think he knows about your betrayal?”

“Betrayal?” Lupin asked, startled. “Severus, I never-”

“You do have a history of them,” Severus interrupted. “You dishonor Potter’s memory and Lily’s by trying to replace the boy with my son - as if you didn’t even know him well enough to know his scent.”

“It is not a betrayal to wish he were still alive,” the wolf snarled as Severus circled him.

“No, the betrayal is trying to make it a reality. The betrayal is bringing an innocent boy into a fight that isn’t his. The betrayal is believing Potter shared the same blood as me. And the betrayal is bringing that animal of a wolf into the discussion.”

“The wolf is controlled,” Lupin protested.

“Really? You nearly killed me when we were kids,” Severus countered. “You may not have meant to, it may have been your mutt’s scheme, but it still happened. We were friends at the time, and research shows the werewolf recognizes pack even in wolf form. Obviously we were not as close as I thought. Even if you didn’t consider me _pack_ , had you told me I could have protected myself. I knew the moon phase; I could have been prepared. Your _secret_ nearly killed me - and it nearly killed Potter, Granger, and the Weasley boy. You’re no more controlled now than you were then.”

“So you’re mad because I’m a werewolf?”

“No,” Snape said shortly, tired suddenly. “And if you haven’t figured it out by now, you’re slower than your classmates gave you credit for. You wanted to talk. Talk, or get out of my sight.”

“Tell me about your son. The truth, not whatever story you're telling Albus and You Know Who.”

“Pity. I have told them the truth and any more is none of your business.”

“What Albus knows is at best a half story and more likely a carefully constructed lie,” Remus accused. “I can smell Lily on the boy. More than I ever could on Harry. I know she's connected to him.”

“Yes, as I'm sure you and Albus discussed at great length, your wolf suddenly sprouted the ability to sense heritage- a talent no other werewolf possesses. And I _just_ mentioned my distaste for bringing the animal into this as well. You don’t listen as well as you smell, do you? Perhaps he should hand you over to the Unspeakables to find what other magic your beast has.”

“Severus,” Lupin growled again, his tone reprimanding.

“No matter what Albus _believes_ ,” Severus snarled back, “my son is _not_ Harry Potter.”

“Then who is he?” the wolf demanded. “I know you, Severus - better than you would like. And I knew Lily. She would never betray James.”

“She didn’t have to.” Severus closed his eyes, breathed, and settled himself. This was not going according to plan. And he _did_ have a plan, he’d just forgotten how aggravating it could be to talk his old school tormentor. While Remus had tried to stay out of most of the pranks the Marauders pulled, the ones he had participated in were made all the more deadly by his condition.

Which was currently under control thanks to a potion Severus himself brewed. Under control - what a laugh. It was no more contained than a dog held by a muggle thread of morality.

“Lily didn’t have to betray James because Corvus is not her son,” Severus finally said. “And before you ask, she was never intimate with me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well that’s nothing new,” Severus commented dryly.

“Could you please stop being a god-damn arse and just tell me?” Remus snarled. “This isn’t the time for half-truths and secrets.”

Severus waited a beat - just long enough to make the point that he was only telling Remus because _he_ wanted to - before he said: “James made a potion with my blood. Corvus was the result.”

“Lily-”

“Is not the mother of the child,” Severus interrupted. “What Albus doesn’t know is that I don’t know _who_ Corvus’ mother is. Thirteen months after Harry was born, Corvus was born as a result of a potion and an unknown mother. Two months later, James and Lily died. Corvus had been with a babysitter at the time, and when she discovered what happened she fled to the United States with her husband, Corvus, and her own nephew. She raised Corvus as a grandchild, never telling him what happened. I discovered his existence when both she and her husband died and next of kin tests were performed.”

“Why?” Remus asked. “Your story would make sense if it was just a story,” he continued, “but I can’t imagine why James and Lily would do such a thing.”

“Because I asked Lily to,” Severus said simply. “I went abroad to do research for the Dark Lord and asked James and Lily, should the worst happen, to secure my line. I hadn’t expected them to take on the task when I lived, of course - I only intended for them to do so in the case of my death - but James was competent at potions and you know what a force Lily was. She would ensure it happened. And she did. For me. Now if you are quite finished nosing your way into my personal life, wolf, I would appreciate it if you left. I need to cleanse my quarters.”

Remus looked very close to crying. “How dare you,” he whispered.

“I beg your pardon?” Severus asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You knew Lily. You knew she would do whatever you asked of her. How _dare_ you?”

“If you remember, I was quite young and afraid. I dared to do a lot of things, not all of which were very wise. Case in point: the mark on my arm. Don’t test me, or I’ll show you what He taught me.”

“Why lie?” Remus asked. “Why tell Albus you knew the mother?”

“Because he’s looking for another Savior,” Severus answered calmly, “and I have no desire to have a Dark Lord target my son. Now, for the last time: _leave_. Or I will make you.”

* * *

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to expect from a wizard funeral, and was equally sure that it would look strange if he didn’t. His grandparents, after all, had supposedly just died. Wouldn’t it be expected that he had gone to theirs?

With a deep breath to fortify himself, he politely asked the chimera: “Could you let the professor know I’m here?”

The beast – currently with a dragon head and a lion’s body – blinked one stone eye at him, then scampered away inside a cave carved into the relief. Harry pursed his lips and hoped that meant Snape would be there soon. He didn’t much like standing out in the hallway alone. He wasn’t sure Snape was even in his rooms, but Persina had been telling everyone he would be in his office most of the day if anyone wanted to see him and breakfast had ended hours ago. While there was a chance someone else was in there with him, Harry didn’t think so. He’d seen Dumbledore, Remus, and McGonagall out on the front lawn when he’d walked that way, and when he’d stopped by the common room it had been crowded. He hadn’t seen the grim-like black dog that was Sirius’ animagus form, but in a way he was glad for that. Malfoy might have recognized him and turned Sirius in.

“Hello,” came a voice from down the hall, and Harry turned to see Luna standing there looking dreamy.

“Hi,” Harry said, then stalled. He didn’t really know how to act.

“It’s okay, you just have wrackspurts in your head right now. They’ll clear out eventually.”

Harry blinked, not sure what that meant.

“Are you here to see your father?”

Harry nodded. “I needed to talk to him.”

Luna hummed. “Fathers are funny creatures,” she said. “They always mean what they say, but they can’t always say what they mean.”

“Luna, I have to ask you something,” Harry said. The blonde turned to look at him, her head tilted slightly to the side. “Do you know who I am?”

“Of course I do, silly,” she said. “You’re yourself.”

“But am I Corvus Snape?”

Luna’s head tilted in the opposite direction, a considering look on her face. “I don’t think it much matters what you call yourself, so long as you stay yourself,” she said. “You don’t much like the name given to you, but it’s only a name.”

“How do you know I don’t like it?” he asked.

“You keep asking me about it,” Luna said with a giggle.

“Miss Lovegood, Corvus,” Snape greeted as the relief slid aside. He raised an eyebrow. “Was there something you needed?”

Harry’s tongue stuck in his throat, but Luna showed no fear in front of the potion’s master. “Cory needed to talk to you, sir, and I was just keeping him company. He seemed lonely.” Harry felt his face heat. “I’ll just be off now. Bye.” She skipped off with a grin, humming an upbeat tune, and Harry barely managed a “bye” in return.

“Come inside,” Snape said, stepping back and allowing Harry entrance. “I hope you realize there is no need to wait for me to get you; the chimera will allow you in as well.”

Harry didn’t want to admit he’d forgotten the password, so he just said: “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.”

“And what did we need to discuss?”

Harry bit his lip and fidgeted for a moment, unsure what to do with his hands. “The funeral is today.”

Snape gestured for Harry to take one of the kitchen chairs, and Harry did. His feet didn’t quite reach the ground. “I am aware,” Snape said in response to Harry’s statement.

“I’ve never been to a wizarding funeral before,” Harry said, hoping that Snape would get the picture.

Snape did watch him for a moment, considering. “Is it mere attendance that concerns you, or that the funeral you will attend is Harry Potter’s?”

“You say that like he isn’t me,” Harry growled, distracted from his point.

“He isn’t,” Snape said simply.

“He was.”

“Not anymore,” Snape held a hand up before Harry could protest further, and Harry scowled even as he obeyed the silent command for quiet. “We are attempting to fool two powerful wizards highly skilled in the mind arts. The truths we have serve us well. You are my son. We were unaware of each other previously. We have had very little contact with each other as father and son. The rest we must build, and we must hide who you were. The best way – the surest way to ensure your life and mine will continue – is to forget you were ever Harry Potter.”

“Why don’t you just obliviate me, then,” Harry asked with a scowl.

Snape rolled his eyes. “If I did that you’d be a mindless lump,” he said. “I’d get further with a rock.”

“What if I can’t do it?”

Snape’s answer was short, simple, and to the point. “We both die. If we’re lucky, it will be quick.”

Harry slumped forward.

“You are restless, likely because you have too much idle time. When you return to classes on Monday you will likely forget your worries for simpler ones,” Snape said.

“Doubt it,” Harry grumbled. “What ‘m I s’posed to do for the Hogsmeade weekends?”

“Don’t mumble,” Snape scolded, though for once Harry could tell it was only a minor annoyance to the elder man. “I have, of course, signed a new permission slip for you to go. And since I am your Head of House, I have put it on file.”

Harry’s head shot up. “You did?” He hadn’t even needed to ask? Snape wasn’t going to hold it over his head, or say it was too dangerous, or warn him about giving himself away?

Snape raised an eyebrow, and Harry thought for a moment another insult to his intelligence was coming. But Snape didn’t say anything at all.

After a moment of silence, the professor asked: “What are your concerns with the funeral?”

“Going at all,” Harry said quietly. “I – I’ve never been to one before.”

“It’s similar to the muggle version,” Snape said shortly.

“Never been to one of those either,” Harry said very quietly.

There was a moment of silence where Harry was sure Snape hadn’t heard him, then the professor went on: “There will be time for everyone in attendance to grieve en masse, view the body, and then a hopefully short speech will follow. This will likely be made to be tiresome and long by all the students who will want a moment to speak, just to say that they were able to speak at Harry Potter’s funeral. After, the students will be dismissed back to the castle and the body will be taken to Potter’s muggle relatives.”

“The Dursleys?” Harry asked.

Snape nodded. “Undoubtedly.”

“They won’t want me- him-“ Harry stumbled.

“What they want no longer matters to you,” Snape said. “Put it from your mind.”

Harry nodded, looking down.

“He is not you,” Snape said firmly. “You are Corvus Snape. You are my son. Harry Potter is no more.”

“I can’t forget him,” Harry said. “I can’t forget I am him.”

Snape huffed, then rummaged through his cabinets. After a moment, he pulled down a stone bowl and placed it before Harry. “Take the three memories which remind you the most that you are Harry Potter and put them in the bowl,” he ordered.

“What?”

“If I obliviate you then you’ll be a bigger blunder than Longbottom,” Snape sneered. “If you take the memories from your mind you won’t forget them, but they won’t matter as much either.”

Harry frowned. “Like a copy?” he asked.

Snape hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “With each - copy,” he said the word slowly and carefully, and Harry had a feeling the term wasn’t quite right, “the memory will fade a little. The same as a mold loses a little definition each time it is used.”

“I don’t know how,” Harry said uncertainly. “I’ve never even seen anyone copy a memory before.”

“This once, I will do it for you. Pay attention. We will,” Snape growled out the next word, “ _copy_ memories each night we can until I feel you can play your role safely. I will store the memories for you until they can be returned to you. Now focus on the memories; the funeral will start soon and it will do us no good to be late.”

* * *

It was no secret that Draco hated the Golden Trio. He knew it was somewhat childish, but he was still a child, darn it. And it was the truth. They ruined _everything_. Even Cory’s arrival was spoiled by Harry-Bloody-Potter dying.

Still he felt a little sorry for the Gryffindors. Just a little bit. Potter had been a really good seeker, and he’d earned them a good number of house points.

Draco knew better than to just announce his hate on the day of Boy Wonder’s funeral. Even if it was ruining one of the last good flying days of the year. Marcus had already scolded him for overwhelming Cory, the pitch was out of the question, and it was too early to start on his weekend homework. So he was using the afternoon to do something productive with his time: find dark magic items.

He’d fallen behind a bit in doing what his father had asked, but Draco was determined to live up to his father’s expectations. In the end, those were the only expectations that really mattered.

Better yet, his father had promised him a winged horse if he succeeded.

It was hard to track down a dark magic user, but dark magic left traces on those it touched. Magic was also drawn to similar magic. He couldn’t be caught with a dark magic item, though, which would have been the easiest way to find dark artifacts.

“Draco? What are you doing up here?” Blaise asked as he turned a corner at the end of the fifth-floor hall.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Draco returned, dismissive as he continued to scan the walls.

“Followed a secret passage from the dungeons,” Blaise answered.

Draco sighed. “Sometimes I wish I had a map of the school,” he said. “I could have sworn there was an empty alcove around here somewhere. I used to find couples hiding in it.”

“Looking for a place to take your new obsession?”

“He’s not an obsession.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Draco hissed.

“If you say so. It’s almost time for the funeral; we should go make sure your not-obsession doesn’t get lost.”

“Think he’ll go?” Draco asked, truly curious as they started back towards the stairs.

Blaise shrugged. “Who wouldn’t want to go to the Boy-Who-Lived’s funeral? Hey, think we should call him the Boy-Who-Died now?”

“Not where others can hear us,” Draco said with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for yet another long delay. Some things just weren't playing out the way I wanted them to, and... well... things have been busy. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'll try to be better about updating in the future.


	27. Chapter 27

“Are you sure you want to go?” Draco asked Cory carefully. He had returned to the common room with Blaise to find the young Snape with a few of his year mates, looking rather flushed and nervous. “You don't have to go if you'd rather stay. You didn't know him.”

“But you did,” Cory said. “Everyone else is going.”

“The first, second, and third years are staying behind, actually,” Blaise said. “And most of Ravenclaw won't be there either. We understand if you choose to stay.”

Cory was already shaking his head, his slightly pink cheeks reddening further at the attention everyone was paying him. “Funerals are -” he hesitated, then settled on: “hard. But it's okay. It's not like I'm going to Granma’s funeral again. I'll stay out of your way.”

And there was likely the reason he wanted to go, Draco realized. Knowing funerals were difficult, he wanted to support his new classmates. He really  _ didn't  _ understand the dynamics between the Slytherins and Famous Harry Potter if he thought they would mourn him that deeply. 

“Let's go then,” Giles huffed. “I want to get this over with. I've got a charms essay to finish if I want to have time at Hogsmeade next weekend.”

Persina slapped Giles on the shoulder with a black fan she was holding. Draco didn’t know the girl that well, but he knew Pansy; Parkinson only brought fans out when she wanted to show off. “Don't say things like that. You let that slip outside the common room and you'll be asking for a brawl.”

“I could take them,” Giles muttered. 

“And lose enough house points to cost us the cup,” Draco reminded him. “ _ Don't  _ try it.”

“You do it all the time!” Giles protested. 

“And Slytherin hasn't won the house cup in four years - five, if you count the year it was stolen from us.”

“Stolen?” Cory asked, looking confused. 

“A story for another time,” Theodore said as he joined the group. “The seats are beginning to fill outside. We should go before it gets too hectic out there.”

There were murmurs of agreement as everyone moved to gather their things - no Slytherin went anywhere without triple checking they had their wand, some funds, and a secret weapon (Draco’s was a small knife hidden in his belt) - and exited the common room. While it wasn't uncommon to see all the students wearing black, Draco thought the halls seemed rather glum without the splashes of their house colors from the lining of their cloaks or the crests and ties of their uniforms. Without the green and blue (and even the red), it was simply dreary. 

“It’s so quiet,” Corvus whispered to him. They were a bit ahead of the others as they walked through the halls to where the viewing had been set up.

“You expected something loud?” Draco asked, curious.

Corvus shrugged. “I expected more… crying.”

That wasn’t hard to understand. “That will come when the Gryffndors see him. See that group in the middle?” They’d skirted the rows of chairs and come to a stop in a line of sorts which ran parallel to a table of warm drinks and crackers. Corvus saw the group that Draco pointed out, a huddled mass between groups of chairs made up mostly of redheads. “They were his closest friends. They’ll be crying the loudest when they see him, but for now they’re trying to be strong.”

Corvus had looked away from the group, his face losing the pink that had filled it in the common room. “Is something wrong?” Draco asked, concerned. 

“No, it’s okay,” Corvus said, shaking his head. “Why are they waiting? Shouldn’t they be first in line?”

Theodore snorted. “First in line is the first to make a fool of himself. They’re trying to comfort everyone else and put up a strong front. And they call us unfeeling bastards.”

Dark eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Why would they say that?”

“Because they’re Gryffindors,” Persina said slowly, distracted from her discussion with Pansy, Daphne, and Astoria. “We’ve been trying to tell you, but I don’t think you’ve seen them enough to really understand. They hate us because we’re Slytherins, so sometimes they say things that aren’t really true.”

“And they’re  _ all _ like that?” Corvus asked.

“For the most part,” Draco said quietly as the line shifted. “Potter at least only focused on a few Slytherins. He ignored the rest of the house. Some are like that. And some are smarter than others and at least realize we aren’t all bad.”

“But the loudest ones are the ones who hate our guts,” Giles said sourly. 

“Oh,” Cory said, seeming a bit lost. Draco imagined it was a bit hard to take in. First years learned from their upperclassmen, after all, and they’d had five years to learn to hate each other. Cory only had five days.

“Here,” Blaise said, grabbing some of the crackers off the table and handing them to Cory. “Eat something. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m fine,” Cory said weakly, but he took the crackers and nibbled on them.

Pansy was eying him critically. “Do you need to sit down? Have something to drink? Your father’s over there - I could ask him for a potion if you’d like?”

“I’m fine,” Cory said again, though he clearly wasn’t. No one was quite sure how to call him on it, however, because no one really knew what was wrong.

Silence reigned for a few minutes as they inched closer to the casket. Draco took to glaring at anyone who stared at Corvus for longer than a few moments, and stepping to block the view of those that didn’t scare off. It was almost funny to see them startle and drop their gazes when they realized they were caught - or it would be if he knew what was wrong. Corvus had grabbed Draco’s cloak, though for comfort or support Draco wasn’t sure. He just hoped his godfather would notice and get there soon, because he  _ really _ didn’t know what to do.

* * *

Severus watched his son approach with a pack of other Slytherins, including the Malfoy heir and two other sixth years. He almost shifted nervously and bit down on the response. Just because it felt like something was building all day was no reason for Severus to start fidgeting like a flitterbug.

Remarkably, Corvus was handling the proceedings quite well. While he and his companions were staying near the back where the houselves had set up refreshments - hot chocolate, tea, and coffee for the older students, all laced with calming draught - he was clearly visible and not obviously agitated. He  _ was _ glancing around uncomfortably and perhaps a bit paler than Severus would have preferred, but that was to be expected with all the stares. As Severus had said before, the truth served them well when they could use it.

The wolf was in the front row already, tears falling down his face and a hand buried in the mutt’s fur. While Sirius’ dog-head had done a double-take at Corvus (and occasionally stole a glance at the boy), he had settled down almost immediately.

Which confirmed they had fooled the dog’s nose. Black would not sit still at Lupin’s heel if he thought Potter was alive.

Dumbledore had yet to make an appearance, but Poppy was there and passing out biscuits. Severus had seen her slip grief counseling notes into a few small hands as well. He was also fairly certain the wolf had been in charge of the biscuits, as they seemed to have some form of chocolate in them. He made a mental note to keep an eye on the two Slytherins who were lactose intolerant and the one with a chocolate allergy. He didn’t think there was enough there to cause a problem; they would avoid the hot chocolate out of habit, but Severus found it rare for a child to turn away sweets.

With a shudder, Severus realized grief-stricken students on a sugar high would be roaming the halls  _ all night _ . And while he was more than willing to roust troublemakers and assign detentions, crying students in need of comfort were well outside his comfort zone.

Perhaps Minerva would take his rounds?

The group of mixed fourth and fifth year Slytherins was slowly growing. Crabbe and Goyle had joined the group, as well as the Greengrass sisters and Parkinson. They slowly crept along the outskirts of the crowd, avoiding any Gryffindors who would pick a fight, and quietly chatting. The girls were showing off fans with complex lace designs; it was all the fashion lately, as Severus had heard about at length from Narcissa over the summer. She’d shown him three stylized dragons before Lucius had saved him. It had taken the blonde weeks to stop teasing him over it.

Fans didn’t seem to interest the boys, who either looked nervous (Corvus) or irritated (Draco). Severus guessed the irritated look was either caused by the stares or the fashion discussions; both annoyed his godson terribly.

People were starting to notice the resemblance between Corvus and Potter. No one was saying anything, however, and Severus hoped that meant they were curious rather than suspicious. The similarities caused fresh tears to spout in some, but the way Corvus’ hand had somehow fisted in the silk of Draco’s cloak helped keep the Potter image at bay. There was no way the Golden Boy would cling to a Malfoy for anything.

Severus didn’t like the pale color in Corvus’ face. He had hoped his son’s complexion would return to normal after a few moments, or that a stray comment would cause him to flush in anger and balance out the sickly white. Had he always been that pale?

“You should be speaking to the students,” McGonagall scolded lightly, “not making them wonder who the next corpse will be.” There was a hitch in her voice and a tear in her eye that didn’t match the joke she attempted.

Shaken out of his thoughts, Severus glared at the other teacher. “Perhaps if they didn’t stare at my son, they wouldn’t have cause to worry.”

“Is that what has you in a foul mood?” she asked, a ghost of a smile crossing her face. “Well, there’s no need to worry about that. They see the resemblance between him and Potter - and they wonder.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Wonder what?”

“How they are related, of course,” came the soft voice of Professor Sinestra. “All the old blood families are, and the Potters were old blood. They aren’t too sure about you, it seems, but the traits are more obvious in your son. Black blood, if I had to take a guess.”

Severus’ face returned to its normal frown as he scanned the students again. “It’s no one’s business but our own,” he said. “They would be better off using such mental capacities to improve their skills. Particularly in essay writing.”

“Not everyone’s an academic,” Minerva said. “And it takes their mind off the grief. I think James’ mother was a Black,” she continued, abruptly changing the subject. “And I remember you once said you had a Black great-grandmother, didn’t you Severus?”

“I don’t recall ever saying such to you,” Severus drawled.

“No, it was when we were children-” but Severus was no longer listening.

Something was wrong with his son.

* * *

Harry couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t explain to the others - didn’t even know if they noticed - so he followed blindly as one of them led him away from the open casket. He hadn’t realized it would be so hard to see himself, lying there; he hadn’t even considered what would happen when he saw himself as a corpse. He’d been more worried about how to act like he’d been to a funeral before then  _ whose _ funeral he was attending. His body had been lying there, decked out in new dress robes and eyes closed as if he were simply sleeping. He’d looked pristine. Better than he remembered looking. They’d hidden his scars, the green tint of the illness, and all his small imperfections. Only the famous scar remained. They’d managed to make him look almost handsome.

It was so stuffy, so hard to draw breath, so hard to even  _ think _ with all the people around. When he’d seen the open casket and realized he’d have to look at an image of his own corpse, he’d felt his world shift a little bit. The closer they got to that casket, the louder his heartbeat sounded in his own ears. He hadn’t lied when he said he felt fine; physically he didn’t feel like anything was really wrong. But his stomach had fallen and he’d gone practically deaf when they’d gotten to the coffin. All he could see was that body - his body - laid out like Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, or any of the other fairy tale princesses he’d heard about in kindergarten.

Except he wasn’t going to ever ‘wake up’. True love’s kiss or no, that body would never move again.

“Drink this,” a voice broke through, and a warm mug was forced in his hands. Larger hands circled his own and guided the cup to his lips. When the warm liquid hit his lips, Harry drank on instinct.

Hot chocolate. 

He almost choked on the first mouthful, startling himself into breathing.

“Panic attack-” he heard.

Then, scolding, “dangerous to-”

The words buzzed in his head like gnats, loud and impossible to discern or see or block.

Rich chocolate lingered in his mouth, and Harry took another sip, the hands on his own gentle and steadying. He’d never had someone be so careful with him before. He wanted to see who it was, but fear kept his head down. He knew it was fear. He didn’t want to break the spell, wasn’t ready to lose the comfort of those hands just yet, because if there was one thing the Dursleys had made sure he’d learned it was that no one would comfort  _ him _ . He didn’t deserve it.

Breathing was starting to get easier. He’d moved away from the body when he followed the other students, and it was easier to once more forget the fact that someone else had died for him - that he’d killed someone, again.

Did that make him a murderer?

“Cory?” That voice was to his left, away from the hands. It was probably safe to look at that voice. That wouldn’t make the hands go away. He slowly turned his head slightly to the left and looked up. Malfoy. His hands started to tremble.

Malfoy was the enemy. Malfoy was a friend. Malfoy hated Harry Potter. Malfoy wanted to help Corvus Snape. He was Corvus Snape. He was Harry Potter. He was lying in that coffin, dead, because he was Harry Potter and that body was Harry Potter and it was dead so Harry was dead and he was Harry -

Harry slowly blinked awake on the couch in Snape’s study, groggy. His mouth tasted like cotton and his chest hurt.

Snape was watching him, a book in his lap and his outer robes discarded.

“Can you hear me?” the professor asked softly.

Harry nodded, slowly, and winced as the movement stretched a too-tight muscle in his neck. “What happened?” he asked, fighting back a cough as the words came out like sandpaper. He tried to sit up, and managed only slow movements.

Snape considered him for a moment as he poured a goblet of something from the side table. “You had a panic attack,” he finally said as he put the pitcher down and approached, holding the cup out for the dark-haired student. “I suspect only you might know the true reason why, though I do have some probable causes in mind.”

“What?” Harry croaked as he managed a fully upright position. He winced again, rubbing at his throat, and tried to turn his head a bit. Pain. Wincing, he looked down and let his hands fall to his lap. Snape kneeled before him and put the cup in his hands; Harry jerked at the familiar feeling. Had Snape - ?

The professor held the goblet steady. “You think too much about the wrong things,” he said.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, taking the cup and recognizing the drink instantly. Pumpkin juice. He took a small sip.

“At least you’re breathing again, silly child,” Snape sighed, moving to sit beside Harry on the couch.

“Am I?” Harry asked, then took another sip of the cool drink. Was it possible to forget to breath? He wasn’t aware of breathing, but yes, his chest was moving.

Though it sort of felt like he’d been punched in the gut with Dudley’s smelting stick.

“Look at me, Corvus,” Snape ordered, though his voice was gentle - Harry hadn’t realized he could speak that softly.

Harry worried for a moment that Snape was going to probe his mind again, try and see what had triggered the attack or even just test him to see if Harry’s shields were still standing after. Harry could tell him flat out they weren’t. He felt a wreck.

But Snape was being nice and Harry was still reeling a bit too much to be defiant. He looked up and into Snape’s eyes. The professor had bent down so Harry didn’t have to crane his neck, and for once Harry couldn’t find anger in his face.

“Repeat after me,” Snape said, without any hint of magic. “My name is Corvus Snape.”

Harry wanted to question why, wanted to know the point, but the questions bubbled in his belly and stayed there as his mouth said: “My name is Corvus Snape.”

“I am the son of Severus Snape.”

“I am the son of Severus Snape,” Harry repeated.

“He brought me here because he wants me.”

Harry choked, looked down, looked away. His tongue was too thick and his chest was too tight.

“Silly child,” Severus sighed. “Take a drink.” 

Harry sipped at the pumpkin juice, letting the taste wash away the dryness of sleep.

Once he was settled a bit more, Snape started speaking again: “I am… unused to the Gryffindor trait of brashly rushing into things. What we have undertaken is more a Gryffindor scheme than a Slytherin one,” he admitted. “I rushed into this to pull you from a bad situation, when ideally - as a Slytherin - I would have rather had at least a summer, if not longer, to allow you to become Corvus more naturally. Not all the groundwork was laid for your transition before it happened, and for that I… apologize.”

Harry blinked rapidly, then turned to look his professor in the face again. He was apologizing?

“There were many ways I could have hidden you once I learned that I would need to,” Snape admitted. “I took the path which I felt would require the least amount of change from you to allow you to adapt more quickly.”

“This was the least amount of change?” Harry asked, jaw dropping.

“You are still a boy,” Snape said with a smirk. “I did not change your gender. I did not give you a past which was completely different from your true past. I kept your looks similar, and regressed you only a year. I didn’t move you to a new school, or a new country, or require you to learn a new language.”

Harry couldn’t shut his mouth.

“Are you attempting to catch flies?”

Harry’s jaw snapped shut and he couldn’t help but giggle. Harry as a girl? Impossible.

“You need rest,” Snape said, standing. “I doubt another panic attack will be an issue so long as you do your best to forget your past. I realize you were abused by your relatives-”

“No I wasn’t,” Harry was quick to protest, the words automatic.

Snape rolled his eyes. “You will hint around it to escape them, but won’t say the words? I thought you were a Gryffindor.”

Harry glared. “I thought I was a Slytherin.”

One black eyebrow rose. “Mildly impressive, considering. That part of your past won’t go away, however, and provides a valid excuse for you to not want to talk about it. Use that. Over the holidays we will need to find time to improve your background, but there’s nothing we can do at the moment. For now, simply try to avoid anything other than generalizations. You can sleep here tonight, if you wish, or you can return to the dorms.”

The flames in the fireplace danced a merry purple as Harry considered. It was comfortable and quiet down here. Snape was busy, so he knew the professor wouldn’t be checking in on him. But if he hid away, the other boys in the dorm would laugh at him and tease him - or worse, treat him like he couldn’t do anything. A moment’s debate told him it was better to be uncomfortable and with people his own age than alone with an adult while he was still a bit shaky and uncertain, no matter how much that adult might ignore him.

“I’ll go back to the dorms,” he said. It was better to be out of Snape’s way.

* * *

Severus watched the boy go and wondered just what was going through his son’s mind. As tempting as it would have been to use the mind arts to find out, doing so wouldn’t have built trust with the child. It might not have broken anything, but it wouldn’t have helped either.

They needed trust.

He took a steadying breath and warded his bedroom so that he would be left undisturbed. The alarms would sound if someone entered his chambers, but Severus needed to ensure privacy for what he was about to do. He pulled out the stone basin which he had used to gather the boy’s three memories. It was empty now as he placed it on his bedside stand, but it was simple enough to pull the first of the three vials from the tiny nook hidden in the headboard. 

He poured the shimmery liquid into the basin, then pressed his face forward.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but this chapter was seriously hard to write. I'm still a bit uncertain about parts of it, but at this point I think it's as ready as it's going to be.

When Severus had told Corvus to choose the three memories which most reminded him that he was Harry Potter, he honestly had no idea what the boy would do. At this point, Corvus was still unpredictable. It was possible the memories would be unrelated incidents he simply wanted to forget. Perhaps learning his name, if he remembered that far back, or (considering his past) an episode with his family. Certainly Severus had expected an early memory, not one of Hogwarts. Not another reminder that Hogwarts, despite Severus’ best efforts, wasn't safe. 

Severus recognized the giant chessboard immediately as it formed around him. It had been Minerva’s addition to the protections around the stone, back during Harry’s first year at Hogwarts. The third-floor corridor on the right hand side, forbidden to all those who “did not wish to die a most painful death.” And standing right there was Harry Potter. He was looking between the door to the next challenge and his friends. The Weasley boy was laying on the chessboard, injured, and Granger was attending to him. “Go,” the girl said. “You have to get the stone before Snape does.”

Severus raised an eyebrow as he inspected the scene. He had seen pieces of this memory before, though not as far back nor as complete. During lessons, when Potter had been attempting to find out if he had killed his former professor, Severus had seen glimpses of this - well, Potter likely considered it an adventure but Severus was more likely to call it a fiasco. He hadn’t noticed before the hints that  _ Severus  _ had been after the stone. Wording was tricky in memories; each of the three children would remember the scene with slightly different words, but the concept was a little jarring.

Well, that explained why they didn't come to him for help. It did not explain why they went charging into a dangerous corridor instead of asking their head of house, however. 

The memory blurred through the challenge of Severus’ potion riddle. Either the boy had expected him to view the memory and had been embarrassed by the content in that area or there was nothing there Harry Potter considered significant. It did little good to guess which; Potter was already standing in the final room with Professor Quirrell. “You?” Potter asked, confusion and disbelief making the details of the room fuzzy. In contrast, Quirrell was there in perfect stunning detail, right down to the folds in that ridiculous turban. “No. But - Snape -”

“Yes, he does seem the type doesn't he?” Quirrell asked without even a hint of a stutter. Then suddenly the memory - the only word Severus could think of was  _ shifted _ . It played out before him faster than life, no sounds audible, a surprised Potter finding the stone in his pocket and attempting to hide it in silent seconds. Approaching the mirror so quickly he might have apparated. Without warning sound and speed returned to normal with a force like a sledgehammer, just in time for Quirrell - the Dark Lord stuck to his head - to attack. 

The professor reeled back in pain when Potter’s hands touched his face, making a sound like a startled cat. Red welts appeared in the shape of small hands, the skin quickly cracking, drying, and peeling back. Severus was surprised there wasn't any blood. “What magic is this?” Quirrell asked in a high-pitched scream, shock making his hands shake. His eyes watered, and the tears ripped away pieces of flesh like rain on ash. “What have you done?”

The Dark Lord had other concerns. “Get the stone!” he yelled. “It can heal us!”

But Quirrell wasn't in a state to do anything, much less get the stone without touching the boy. He stared at the little bits of flesh which had fallen into his hands like he couldn't quite believe it was real. His jaw gaped open and his eyes had already taken on the flat color of possession when Potter charged forward, hands outstretched, and pressed his palms to the older man’s face. 

Quirrell and the Dark Lord screamed as one. The sound echoed throughout the room as Severus turned to see Potter’s face. Severus had expected to see determination in Potter’s face, cemented there by Dumbledore’s assertion he had Done the Right Thing. Maybe a bit of satisfaction for taking on his parents’ killer, or rage against someone so like his relatives. Some reflection of Potter’s mindset would be there.

Instead of the expected memory-self, Potter looked like a rabbit facing a butcher’s knife. Pure, complete, encompassing fear shook his body with small tremors and left his eyes as wide, green pools of shock. Potter watched his professor turn to dust and then stared at his hands like he wanted to rip them off. Potter’s mouth never moved, but Severus remembered the question clear enough. 

“Did I kill him?”

Severus found himself staring down at the pensive wondering the same thing. Harry Potter may have been the one to deal the final blow, but he'd been aimed at Quirrell like a particularly deadly and poisonous blade. No trio of first years, no matter how smart, should have been able to make it that far. And though the memory sped through it, Severus suspected Potter had seen the mirror before. He’d been prepared.

Severus gathered the memory back into the vial with a steady hand, as years had taught him not to shake over such things as memories. He checked the time to ensure only a few minutes had passed. The memory had been odd. In places fast, in others blurry, and in others so extremely focused it was like it had happened over and over again. 

Nightmares? A possibility. There was certainly cause enough. 

Perhaps he hadn't been able to focus on the memory properly. It was the very first time Corvus had done such a thing, and having a wand to your temple wasn't exactly comfortable. And yet…

Corvus - Harry - had seen Quirrell die. That was a fact. So why had he only been able to see thestrals after Diggory’s death?

A very odd situation indeed. Severus understood why Potter wouldn’t see thestrals after his parents’ deaths. For the child’s mind, that would have been too vague and incomprehensible. To an infant, a parent might very well have died every time they disappeared. Time, death, birth, grief - all concepts too big for someone so new to the world.

But Potter had been eleven when Quirrell died. He was very well aware that the professor was dead. The concept would not have been foreign, and he had seen it.

Unless he hadn’t.  _ Corvus _ hadn’t been down there.  _ Corvus _ couldn’t see thestrals at that age because  _ Corvus _ hadn’t seen Quirrell die. The memory must be false.

Would his son buy it? Could he believe it?

“Stop dilly dallying,” Severus chided himself, doing so aloud and taking a breath to center himself. He didn’t have much time. The students were at dinner, and he would have rounds to do. He also needed to purge his rooms from the werewolf’s visit, and his only time to do so would be now. If he didn’t, he would be awake until midnight. Not such a good idea when he needed to take Corvus to the ministry in the morning for the paternity tests.

He poured the next memory into the bowl. In for a knut, in for a galleon. He’d finish this before cleaning. Leaning forward, Severus pressed his face to the liquid again.

* * *

The graveyard Severus stood in was unfamiliar, though the large cauldron bubbling amidst the graves told him there were wizards in the area. Harry was noisily struggling against the ropes that held him tied to a gravestone. It didn't take Severus long to know where they were; engraved on the stone was a name Dumbledore had told him belonged to the Dark Lord: Tom Riddle.

Severus ignored Wormtail’s bumbling; he knew the potion and knew what it entailed. After Voldemort’s resurrection, Dumbledore had insisted Severus study it thoroughly for weaknesses. More interesting was the location. Tom Riddle’s grave - it must be the father’s - was important to the potion, of course, but they could have easily taken the bone from the casket and completed the ritual in a protected lab or ritual chamber.  _ This  _ location was chosen not for convenience, but for drama.

The Dark Lord had always known how to instill fear.

And there was Cedric, in full clarity. Oh, the entire scene was clear, but those eyes - he could see the dead, dull gaze even when such minor details should be too far away to make out clearly.

Then the mouth moved and Severus realized this wasn’t a memory of true events. Potter had given him the memory of a dream - a nightmare, actually.

“It’s your fault I’m dead,” Cedric said. “You may not have cast the spell, but it’s still your fault.”

Severus would have expected hot tears and loud sobbing from any other child. Potter was different. There were no denials, no pleadings, no angry shouts. He was crying almost silently, struggling towards the corpse instead of away from it.

“I told you to take the cup,” Cedric continued. “It was your idea to take it together. What did I ever do to you, Harry Potter?”

Wormtail crossed his vision, and only when the rat cut into Potter’s arm did the boy start yelling. Hot pain clouded the graveyard for a moment, the shadows reaching forward as if to grab the corpse away and suddenly Potter was shouting “No!”

The darkness backed away leaving the body cold and dead once more, and Voldemort rose from the bubbling potion. 

Severus drew himself out of the memory. Whatever had happened next, Harry had wanted to not see so badly he’d shaken himself out of the dream. The end had been very abrupt, and it took a moment for the older wizard to steady himself.

He should have known the boy would have nightmares. It was the one time his thoughts were the least organized while the unconscious mind tried to sort through all that had happened during the day. Severus himself could use some meditation to clear his thoughts, but there was simply no time for it.

Unfortunately, there was little he could do for nightmares but let them fade with time. Obliviating them would do little good unless he removed the source of them.

At this point Severus had a thought that maybe Corvus hadn’t meant for Severus to view the memories. He’d never said he wouldn’t, but he’d never said he would either. Mentally shrugging the thought off - no one had ever accused him of being considerate - Severus reached for the vial to return the memory, carefully returning every scrap of the nightmare to the bottle. Then he took the last glass container and emptied the contents into the pensieve.

* * *

 

Harry stood at the edge of a lake, the dementors swarming around him. It was eerily quiet; even the normal nocturnal sounds and the sounds of shouting Severus knew accompanied this event were missing. It was as if the child were hyper-focused on something.

There was certainly plenty to be focused on. The number of dementors in the air was deadly. Even the standard charm wouldn't be enough to hold them off for long. Not just one, anyways. 

The man on the ground, gasping silently, tattoos standing out in stark contrast to skin inhumanly pale, was the strongest image in the scene. The mutt looked pale and ghastly, almost dead. Harry himself was on his knees. Severus had seen him cast patronus after patronus, but the child was unable to cast one strong enough for the swarm of beasts circling them. Of course he wasn’t - he was a child. Where was Albus? Severus remembered clearly telling him of the dangers of the dark creatures and where his golden boy had run off to. He’d cursed himself for the mistake of not watching the wolf take his potion as he’d bundled the two protesting students off to the medical wing.

And then he heard it.

Oh Gods.

Lily.

* * *

Severus was reeling. Of all the memories the boy could have chosen - was he trying to  _ punish _ Severus?

Better question: was the Headmaster  _ trying _ to get the boy killed?

Severus shook himself. He already knew the answer to that question. There were times he wondered if perhaps the light wasn’t crueler than the dark, and from what he knew of Potter’s life Severus wasn’t quite sure how the boy was surviving. Despite serving a Dark Lord, even Severus hadn’t faced Death as many times as Potter-Harry-Corvus had. He’d seen strangers, of course. And muggles - he was no stranger to killing them. But people he knew? His own fool self?

Merlin, the boy was a murderer at eleven and Dumbledore had acted as if it was  _ nothing _ . He was lucky he hadn’t created another Dark Lord. And then Diggory, the overwhelming guilt present in that memory… it was nearly unbearable.

And Lily. Dear, sweet Lily. Severus hadn’t realized Potter would remember her death. He had been so young. To have your only memory of your mother be her screams…

Severus put the last of the three memories back into the vial and stared at it. By far the shortest of the three memories, it was also the most horrid - the most damning - the most heartbreaking.

It was wrong.

He smashed the vial to the ground, the echo of it disappearing into the shards of the next vial he threw to the floor, buried under the third flung to the ground as if simply destroying these duplicates could make the memories vanish.

He breathed heavily, his ears ringing. He would deal with the consequences later. When Corvus asked, he would have some excuse. Until then…

Until then he would gather as many of  _ those _ memories as he could from the boy, and he would smash them to pieces. No son of his was going to be haunted by the thought of being a murderer.

* * *

Harry sat on the bed tailor-style, the fourth-year boys watching him covertly as they got ready for bed.

“It’s okay, you know,” Harry finally said. “You can ask.”

“Fine then,” Giles said, sounding skeptical. “What happened?”

“A panic attack, apparently,” Harry said with a shrug. “I’ve never had one before, but I guess it could happen. I might have to see a  _ mind healer _ now.” He made sure his face showed appropriate disgust for the profession, just as his aunt and uncle had felt. Snape hadn't said anything about it, but Harry knew enough to think it would be expected. 

“What’s a mind healer?” one of the other boys asked.

“They heal minds, stupid,” another shot back.

The first boy shrunk back for a moment, face scrunching and eyes narrowing. “I know  _ that _ , but what do they  _ do _ ?” he said, stressing the last part.

“That’s not what you asked,” the second boy, who had dark hair and skin a bit darker, cut back. “You asked what they were.”

“Shut your trap, Goldstein, everyone knows mind healers heal minds. It’s in the title! Anyone with half a brain would know what it meant.”

“Does that mean you don’t have half a brain?”

“Would the two of you shut it?” Giles bit out. “You’re like a bunch of first years sometimes - or worse, the girls.”

All three gave a collective shudder.

“What’s so bad about the girls?” Harry asked.

“Persina isn’t bad, but don’t let the other three get started on anything but schoolwork - you’ll never be able to leave!” Giles said with an additional shudder. It seemed to go right up his spine. “I once told Greengrass about my sister going shopping in Paris - it took  _ four hours _ for her to stop talking about the latest fashions. Almost made my ears bleed.”

“You’re joking,” Harry accused, more out of disbelief than anything else. Gryffindor girls were usually talking about the latest Quidditch match or Hermione’s study plans (and how to avoid them). Talking for hours about clothes?

“You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?” Giles said. “Just wait until they trap you.”

“Tell us about America,” the one boy who wasn’t Giles or Goldstein - Harry was too embarrassed to ask for his name - demanded. “Is the food different? What are the Quidditch teams like? Were the classes hard?”

“What about the girls?” Goldstein asked. “If you don’t believe us about ours - what did yours talk about?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then mentally pulled out a trick of his aunt’s when she didn’t want to talk but wanted to know the latest gossip from the neighbors. “Let’s play a game,” he said. “An information game,” he clarified when he say them start to protest.

Giles seemed suspicious while the other two seemed confused. “Just what game is this?”

“It’s called two truths and a lie. The person who is ‘it’ tells three facts - but one of those facts is a lie. Everyone else tries to guess which two facts are the truth and which is the lie. Then you go around taking turns,” Harry explained.

“Sounds boring,” Goldstein whined.

“Sounds like spy training,” Giles said with a smirk. “Your dad teach you that game?”

“No,” Harry said slowly. “Why would he?”

The unknown boy snorted. “He’s only the most well-known spy in England! Honestly, he’s the only one known to survive spying for both sides.”

“He’s not a spy,” Harry said firmly.

Giles rolled his eyes. “And my mom’s the tooth pixie.”

Harry frowned. “Funny. You don’t look like you’ve got wings. Mighty tall for a pixie too.”

“If anyone’s light-footed around here, it’s you,  _ fainter _ ,” Giles growled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry demanded, standing and crossing his arms.

“Means you’re weak,” the other boy returned, smirking. “Means you might as well bunk with the girls, since you’re one of them. Swooning at the sight of a Potter - what are you, a firstie?”

“I didn’t  _ swoon _ and I’m not a  _ girl _ ,” Harry growled. 

Giles snorted. “Don’t they teach you anything in America?” he asked. “Or do you only have classes in the different types of fainting?”

“It was a panic-”

“As if,” the other Slytherin cut in. “You expect us to believe you panicked because - what - he looked a bit like you? Because you were reminded of your precious  _ family _ ?”

Harry felt his anger spike. His eyes were low, his bangs partially hiding the room from his view, the new scar on his face a tight reminder as his face stretched the skin in new ways. “No, I don’t expect you to believe it for those  _ stupid _ reasons,” he said lowly. Malfoy would have brought out his father’s name; Dudley would have gone for his Smeltings Stick. Harry didn’t think enough to do either. He didn’t even notice the temperature dropping in the room, or the sudden crack of the log splitting in the heat of the fire. “I expect you to believe it because it’s  _ true _ . I am  _ not _ a liar. I expect you to believe it because there is no other  _ logical  _ explanation for what happened. I also expect, out of common courtesy, you at least  _ pretend _ to believe me. Calling you a pixie was a  _ joke _ . Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll take up my father’s offer and spend the night with him. At least  _ he _ doesn’t call me a liar.”

Harry stormed out of the room, slamming the dorm door behind him.

“Cory?” came a surprised voice, Harry turned angry eyes down the hall towards the older boy’s dormroom and saw Theodore Knott standing there, looking startled.

* * *

Wow.

Theodore had been pressing his father for the opportunity to court Snape’s son seriously because he’d seen a good trophy to keep on his arm and a chance to bring some profit to the family in the form of a personal Potions Master for a father-in-law.

But wow. Those  _ eyes _ .

They were a bright glittering green, the color of the killing curse, and they were angry. Very, very angry. And very, very arousing. Seeing Snape angry was  _ hot _ .

Well, Corvus Snape at least. Professor Snape was just scary. Whoever Corvus’ mother was, he definitely got his looks from that side of the family. Theodore thought he had narrowed it down to an offshoot of the Black family which had travelled to Kent, then briefly to Paris, and then a small town just outside London before fleeing to America during Voldemort’s time. Still purebloods, they’d fallen out of immediate favor with the main family for marrying foreign wizards and witches. Foreign  _ purebloods _ .

“Is everything okay?” Theodore asked, realizing he’d stood there and stared at the boy until the green eyes had narrowed in suspicion.

The dark-haired boy looked away, nodding, the scar on his face standing out sharply in the torchlight. He looked almost dangerous.

Theodore wanted to bottle it up.

“Trouble with your dormmates?”

A quick glance from those green eyes and a single, sharp nod.

“About earlier?”

Cory didn’t answer, but he scowled harder. “I’ll be staying with my father tonight. Do I need to let anyone know?”

“No, but it’s past curfew,” Theodore said. “You won’t be permitted to walk the halls alone.”

“Will you walk me then?”

“As much as I would like to, it has to be a prefect,” Theodore said, honestly disappointed. “You’ll have to ask Draco.”

Corvus nodded sharply.

“The fifth year dorms are the next door on the left,” Theodore said, pointing down the hall. “Will you be okay? I left a book in the commonroom I need to fetch,” he lied easily, “but I can walk with you if you need.”

“It’s fine,” Cory said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” was the soft reply. “Good night.”

“G’night,” Cory mumbled. He made ducked around Theodore and moved quickly down the hall.

Once he was certain the younger student was out of sight and earshot, the sandy-haired boy pushed open the fourth year dormroom door and glared at the four boys within. “Which of you was stupid enough to piss off Professor Snape’s son?” he demanded.

In the end, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have rewritten this at least three times, and I'm still not 100% sure I like it. But it's time to post and move on...
> 
> Please enjoy!

“You don't have to come in with me,” Harry said quickly when they reached Snape’s rooms. “I'll be fine.” Now that he’d had some time to cool down, he was a bit embarrassed over his rush from the room. He never would have done so at the Dursleys, though he had seen Ron act like that with his brothers on occasion. Perhaps that was where it had come from? 

“If I do that you'll get detention from your father for being out alone,” Malfoy countered, not allowing Harry to think on it too much. “Don't worry, I won't stay any longer than I need to if you don’t want me around.”

Malfoy said the password and the chimera relief slid back to reveal the potion master’s quarters. Harry recognized the quick work of cleaning spells like what Mrs. Weasley would use just before guests arrived - a funny mix of pine and vinegar scents lingered in the air, along with a slight crispness to the fabric, like it had been steamed dry. 

Was Snape expecting visitors? The flames in the fireplace were pink - was that supposed to mean something to Harry? Was he not supposed to be here after all?

“He may have left for his rounds already,” Malfoy said as he looked briefly around the suite. His godfather wasn’t in immediate sight, and he didn’t notice Harry’s growing concerns. “We can stay in your room until he gets back, if you like?”

Harry shrugged, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and went to his room. He was used to a lack of privacy, so it didn’t bother him (or even seem odd) that Malfoy wanted in his bedroom. It wasn't like the Dursleys would have given him any, and at Hogwarts he shared a dorm with his yearmates. It never occurred to him to say no. 

Malfoy followed him in, looking around the space and immediately zoning in on the games stored at the top of the bookshelf. “You play gobstones?” he asked. “You should have said something; Vince and Greg were playing the other day and would have let you join in.”

Harry shrugged. “The set isn't mine. I guess Snape got it for me.” He sat on the bed and just watched Malfoy snoop around his room. 

“What games did you play then?”

Harry thought for a moment. “Football? I think that's what they call it here. A muggle game where you kick a ball across the field with your feet and try to get it through the other team’s goal. I didn’t really  _ play _ play, though - I just practiced with the team sometimes if they needed an extra player or if I had free time.”

“You played muggle games?”

“Granma and granpa weren't big on throwing magic around,” Harry explained. “Especially not for games. I played some card games too, I guess, and the usual ones.”

“Usual ones?”

“Two-truths-and-a-lie, truth or dare, things like that,” Harry said. “Sometimes. I actually spent most of my time reading or watching my cousin play. He was better at stuff like that.”

“Stuff like what?” Malfoy pressed.

Harry shrugged. “Just, you know, people stuff.”

* * *

What was that supposed to mean? ‘People stuff’? At least Cory wasn’t angry anymore. Though now he seemed more depressed than anything. “Have you heard from your cousin since you got back?” Draco asked. “I don’t know how long it takes international owls to travel…”

Cory hugged a pillow to his chest as he shook his head, pulling his feet up onto the bed. “I’ve written, but D hasn’t written back.”

Did it take more than a week for owls to deliver overseas? That seemed inefficient. There were faster ways to travel, after all. “Maybe he simply hasn’t had the chance to yet. What about classes. Do they seem different? What you’ve seen so far, at least.”

That got a small smile. “You mean potions? It’s really basic, since I’ve mostly just sat in on the younger years during theory - the older students have been brewing or taking tests. He did let me do some of the practicals with the younger years, though. It’s - well - it’s the same, but different.”

“You just contradicted yourself.”

“I know, but it’s still true. My old potions instructor didn’t like me very much. And I never really got a chance to understand a lot of the theory because - well - it just didn’t make sense. I mostly just memorized recipes for exams and accepted that I’d do the written half by guess. The potions here are the same potions, but - I don’t know - either I needed to hear it a different way or I needed to hear it again. Some of it is starting to make more sense.”

Draco smiled. If nothing else, perhaps Cory and Sev could connect over potions.

“I still prefer cooking, though.”

“Cooking?” Draco asked, startled.

“Well, baking really. Desserts. My cousin  _ loved _ deserts and we couldn’t always go out to a restaurant or anything, so I learned to make things for him. I used to think potions and cooking were nothing alike, but I’m starting to wonder if maybe they are.”

“Make me something,” Draco challenged.

“What?”

“Make me something. A dessert. Surely there’s something you could make in Uncle Sev’s kitchen, and the house elves will get you anything you need if you knock on the cabinet. They’ll even measure for you.”

Cory was watching him close, green eyes narrowed in suspicion. It was an obvious test of his story; what he was likely wondering about was the reason. 

Parts of Corvus didn’t add up. He called his father “Snape”, which should have been awkward as it was his own last name; he seemed to be fairly familiar with the castle already, though he supposedly hadn’t been there very long; and while Draco knew he wasn’t Harry Potter - had been there with both of them in the same room - Corvus  _ was _ hiding something about his past. There was only so much Draco could work into casual conversation if he didn’t have time to actually  _ converse _ .

“Ok,” Cory finally said, setting the pillow aside and leaving the bedroom. “Something quick; I don’t want Snape to come back and get angry.”

Angry? “Why would he be angry?” Draco asked as he followed.

There was a small hesitation before the answer. “We’re up and baking cookies after curfew?”

“A reasonable answer, but more disappointment than anger,” Uncle Sev’s voice cut in from his own bedroom. “What are you two doing here?”

“I, uh, changed my mind,” Cory stammered. “Decided to stay here tonight. Is that okay?”

“I would not have offered if it was not,” Severus replied, though his voice was softer than Draco remembered. “But you should be sleeping, not baking.”

“It’s my fault,” Draco said, seeing the small flinch and wondering where it came from. “Cory said he used to bake at home, so I asked him to make me something.”

“Perhaps tomorrow, after we return from the ministry, if Cory is not too tired,” Severus said.

“We’re going to the ministry tomorrow?” Cory asked, head jerking up. “The tests?”

Severus nodded.

“You mean the paternity tests, right?” Draco asked. 

Severus nodded. “The relationship was challenged, though not publicly. We are proving what we know to be true. It should be simple and painless, though tedious given the Ministry’s history of timeliness.”

Draco frowned. “I can’t go with you?”

“You know that would be inappropriate,” Severus answered.

“Not to watch,” Draco protested, “but to see my father. He’s likely to be at the Ministry, isn’t he?”

“I do not know; I didn’t ask. Still, you will see him next weekend for Hogsmeade, and that should be soon enough. It’s time for bed, now. Cory, go ahead and lie down. I’ll escort Draco back to the dorms and be back once I complete my rounds.”

Corvus nodded, bit his lip, then quietly said: “Goodnight.” He fled to his room and closed the door.

“Are you alright, Uncle Sev?” Draco asked once the door was shut. “You look - strained.”

“It has been a long day,” Severus admitted. “I am tired, that is all.”

“You have to do rounds still?”

Severus nodded. “I had thought to ask Professor McGonagall to cover for me, but with everything that happened it slipped my mind.”

“What did happen?” Draco asked.

“Corvus had a panic attack, it seems. We aren’t entirely certain why.”

“That sounds bad.”

“It’s nothing for you to worry over,” Severus sighed as he guided Draco out into the hall and away from his rooms. “Though I would like your assistance in perhaps keeping the fuss away from Corvus as much as possible? The more he stresses over it, the worse it could get.”

“Of course,” Draco readily agreed. “You’re family, and so’s he.”

“Back to bed with you, then,” Severus said, nodding towards the entrance to the common room. The stone passageway opened without a password, recognizing the head of house. “Mister Knott? What are you doing out of bed at this hour?”

“Waiting for Draco to come back, sir,” Theodore said. “Though this does give me an opportunity to speak with you - in private, if we could?”

“It is well past curfew and I have rounds to do,” Severus said sternly. “Is this an emergency?”

“Not exactly,” Theodore admitted. 

“Then it can wait until tomorrow. I will be away from the castle for a portion of the day, and it is possible I will not return until late. Meet me in my office promptly at six,” Severus said. “And then afterwards you can serve detention at seven.”

“Detention?” Theodore asked, startled.

“Out of bed, no prefect, well past curfew? You may be in your commonroom, Mister Knott, and it may be a Saturday, but at this hour you are bending the rules a bit too far. Particularly given the recent changes in staffing. We do not yet know if our situation has improved or worsened.”

Draco frowned; he hadn’t really thought about it much. The new defense instructor was incredibly laid back compared to Professor Umbridge, so much so classes were awkward and stilted. Not even Granger had wanted to answer questions.

“Yes sir,” Theodore said sullenly.

“Bring your potions assignment with you. I can review it during your detention while you help ensure my son is up to speed on his theory.”

The blonde boy suddenly gained a wolfish grin. “That’s my detention?” he asked. “I get to tutor Corvus?”

Severus, suddenly suspicious, nodded. “You seem oddly happy about it.”

“I’m not gutting slimeworms - of course I’m happy about it,” Theodore said. “Thanks, Professor. Goodnight!”

“He still seemed oddly cheerful,” Draco thought he should mention. “Moreso than usual. Maybe I should check  _ him _ for curses.”

“You should put the thought of finding dark artefacts and curses out of your mind,” Severus sighed. “Honestly, Draco, your father is proud of you as you are. Don’t go out of your way to find trouble in a bid to impress him.”

“They found a blood quill in the school!”

“And now it’s gone.”

“But what if there’s more?” Draco demanded. “What if there’s something nasty left behind.”

“Then the removal of such an object should be left to the adults.”

“I’m fifteen!”

“Which, so far as wizarding law is concerned, is not yet an adult.”

“My father thought I could do it.”

“And what would your mother say?” Severus challenged.

Draco didn’t answer, but wouldn’t look away either. His mother would always think of him as her baby; she never saw what he was capable of. It was annoying. He was fifteen!

“As I thought. Off to bed, Draco, and do not tarry. You might be fifteen, but you are  _ only _ fifteen.”

Draco pouted as he followed the same path Knott had taken. Sometimes it seemed like Severus could see right into his mind.

* * *

Severus let out a silent breath as he watched the quiet rise and fall of Corvus’ chest. He was laying curled up on the bed, a plush dragon half in his arms and half under his head. The pillow was knocked aside in favor of the toy. 

He was quite sure Corvus had not, as he had claimed, ‘changed his mind.’ Something had happened. The real question was: was it a normal ‘something’ faced by fourteen year old boys, or was it related to the mess Harry Potter drug into Corvus’ life? There was no way to tell, honestly.

As he turned to the study, he saw the flames in the fireplace were still pink. Lately that was the trend for Narcissa. Severus had his suspicions as to why, but didn’t dare voice them aloud. Let Lucius think she’d been in the wine; perhaps he was even right. It wasn’t Severus’ job to figure these things out. 

With a wave of his wand the flames returned to red, and within a few moments Narcissa’s face popped into the flames. “I didn’t think you would still be awake,” Severus said honestly.

“Please tell me you’re joking, Severus,” Narcissa said flatly. “Do you have any idea what I feel like?”

“I imagine you’re about to enlighten me,” the dark haired man said lightly as he sat down in his chair. His head ached; he could use a potion himself before bed.

“My body hates me,” the face in the flames whined. “Three days now, I’m fine until lunch and then up comes all my food. And does my husband even notice? Of course not. He’s busy studying for that special project you have.”

She spoke, of course, of the Dark Lord’s directive to practice wandless magic. Unfortunately Severus had yet to find time to study what had been sent. The books were in a bedside door, a bookmark three pages into the first text.

“Please tell me you have that special remedy you used to make up for me? The one that didn’t turn my face green?”

Severus allowed himself a small smirk at that. Narcissa certainly had some unique reactions when it came to certain potions. “Not handy, and tomorrow I will be busy at the ministry.”

“Damn you,” Narcissa scolded, deflating visibly even in the flames. “You suck.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “You’re not a teenager, Cissy.”

“So?” she countered.

Narcissa was not in a mood Severus was in a state to deal with (which, really, was any mood given how tired he was). With a sigh, he raised a hand and rubbed at his temple. “The potion itself is not terribly difficult. If we are not held up long tomorrow at the ministry, I can brew you a batch when I return. It’s a big  _ if _ , though. You know they don’t like me there. Being a known spy has not gained me many friends in politics.”

Narcissa huffed. “Lucius will see to it that you are taken care of immediately,” she assured. “Or I will see to  _ him _ . You just have that potion ready for me before dinner.” With that, her face left the fire and the flames died down to smoldering ashes.

Rather than get up to go to bed, Severus took a moment to just lean back in the chair and rest. It had truly been a long day, and he was not ready for another one. There were things he still needed to cover with Corvus, things that he’d been putting off for too long. He had to decide what to do about the werewolf, too, and the dreams.

Gods, the dreams. How was he going to explain that?

He needed to ask about Corvus’ vision, too, and make sure he didn’t need another dose of the correction potion. The adoption potion was a one-time deal, but he would need to warn Corvus about the anti-disguise magic they would pass through. There was a high probability it would wash the dye from his hair, revealing it was actually a bit more red than black. His sixth years had an exam on Monday, and the first years would need the standard joined potion-herbology class scheduled.

Come to think of it, hadn’t Potter missed that class first year? If Severus recalled correctly, he’d been in the hospital wing. 

Oh, and the seventh year trip to the forbidden forest to examine potion ingredients. The fourth year combined charms class was coming up after the new year, so he had time to plan for that.

Severus shook himself, realizing he’d never get to bed thinking of all the things he still needed to do. With a small stretch, he stood and went to his bedroom to get some sleep himself.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, unedited. mistakes are mine and the characters are not.

It was late when Severus was finally dressed for bed, teeth brushed, and attempting to slow his whirling thoughts. He would get very little rest if he did not clear his mind, not that he would rest well in bed anyway. The weight of all the secrets he carried was growing heavier. Soon would be the time to relieve himself of some of those secrets, to one lord or the other. 

Lately Severus found himself preferring the Dark. After what had happened with Lily he had never expected to forgive the Dark Lord; but inevitably there was a pull back to that corner - particularly when, like now, his Lord worked quietly from the shadows while Dumbledore’s plots seemed designed for art rather than reality. Sometimes it was like Albus forgot he wasn't working with characters in a book. Reality was messier than fiction. It wasn't always a quest or a battle between two people. Wars were never about just two sides. 

Severus glanced at Corvus’ open door one last time and decided that, pajamas or not, a responsible parent would check their child one last time. He wasn't sure he fit the category of “responsible parent” but Lily was nagging in his ear to try. Rather than sleeping on the bed as he had been when Severus fire-called Narcissa, his son was now curled up in a nest of blankets on the floor reading the book Lucius had bought him. 

“Can’t sleep?”

“Huh?” was the tired reply. “Oh. No.” He glanced back down at the book. “Had a nightmare and woke up.”

“About?”

Corvus blinked for a moment, confused, then seemed to realize Severus’ intent. “Oh. It wasn't about him - not like that anyway. It was Cedric.”

“Do these nightmares happen often?” Severus knew they did; he’d seen it. Would Corvus tell him the truth?

Corvus shrugged, and Severus was too tired to find the meaning in it. Corvus seemed to understand from his scowl that the shrug wasn't sufficient. “Sometimes. Usually more if something reminds me of that night.”

Severus allowed himself to think for a moment, forcing his tired brain into sluggish movement. “The funeral?”

“Probably,” Corvus said. “Yeah. Today's wasn't like his, but I didn't faint in the middle of his either.”

“Dreamless sleep is addictive, so it shouldn't be taken too often. I would prefer to save that for emergencies. Would you like to place a copy in the pensieve instead?”

Corvus shook his head. “It's okay. I'm used to it. I'll go back to sleep in a bit.”

That irritated Severus slightly. For one, he had offered up a solution despite how tired he was and the child was refusing to accept it. For another, he wanted that memory - and all the echoes of it - gone. “I will leave the pensieve and a few vials on the kitchen table. You know the spell if you need it.” He paused, then asked: “Are you truly well, or did you only say so because Draco was present?”

“Huh?”

“You changed your mind rather unexpectedly,” Severus pointed out. “Nothing untoward drove the decision?”

“I  _ think _ you’re asking if something bad happened,” Corvus said. Severus nodded. “Not really. I think I had my first fight with my dormmates, though.”

“Verbal, or physical?”

“Verbal.”

“Well done,” Severus praised.

Corvus blinked at him, then looked back at his book. “I think I fell asleep reading,” he said. 

“Then perhaps you should be in bed,” Severus suggested tiredly.

Corvus stared at the bed for a moment, then asked: “Do you view them? The memories, I mean.”

“Do I need to?” Severus sidestepped. Corvus might be a Slytherin, but he was a former Gryffindor. His reaction would be different from Severus’ snakes. 

Corvus shrugged. “I should have guessed.”

“Guessed what?”

“That you would watch them.”

Severus allowed himself to sigh verbally and rubbed at his temple. He was not ready to have this conversation. “Someday I will need to ask Minerva why none of her students are capable of simply answering a question,” he said, ignoring the fact that he had done the same thing. “But right now it is late and I am tired. I am going to bed. I suggest you do the same. You may eat with your classmates, but we are going to the ministry after breakfast. Dress appropriately.”

Severus turned and made his way to his room, pausing when he heard the quiet “goodnight” behind him. 

“Sleep well,” he said over his shoulder, then hid himself in his room. 

* * *

Severus hadn't gone to breakfast himself, so when Corvus returned to his rooms the potions master took the time to look his son up and down and ensure he was attired appropriately. While he did not expect anyone of import to be present for the testing - a simple affair, really - it was possible they could encounter someone of significance. If so, it was best to look the part. Given that Narcissa had supplied the wardrobe it was no surprise that Corvus passed the quick test. 

“What's going to happen today?” Corvus asked as he bit his lip. 

Since the boy had recently had a less-than-stellar ministry trial as Harry Potter Severus could understand his apprehension. “We will travel to the ministry, check in, and meet with an official who will guide us to the proper fourth floor room. Once there we will meet the family services liaison and the brewer. Two or more ministry officials - likely the same escort plus one more - will oversee the results, and the brewer will record them for official records. Once the results are confirmed we can ask for a reissuing of your birth certificate and have you declared an English citizen.”

Corvus blinked. “I'm not now?”

“Yes, but without official records you appear to have been conjured out of thin air,” Severus said dryly. “You can hardly go around using Harry Potter’s WID card now, can you?”

“His what?”

“WID card,” Severus said slowly. Surely the boy had - no, Petunia wouldn't have cared about it, and the subject wasn't likely to come up in class until seventh year and apparation lessons. “Your wizard identification card. A small card about the size of your palm which has a photo and basic information about you - such as allergies, medical alerts, and licenses.”

Corvus’ face was clear: despite Severus’ hopes, the boy had no idea what it was. 

The older wizard pulled his card from his pocket and showed it to his son. He even allowed Corvus to hold it and inspect it, though that hadn't been his intention. “It looks like a muggle drivers license,” Corvus said - though his face held much more interest than the muggle version warranted. 

“The ministry decided several years ago that WIDs should mimic the muggle version in case an emergency occurs and we are required to identify ourselves to muggle police. They are charmed so anyone without magic will see muggle information.”

“Oh,” Corvus said, handing back the card. “I don’t have one.”

“We will need to remedy that. You weren't at breakfast long,” Severus commented, changing the subject. There wasn't much time before they needed to leave. “Are you still hungry?”

Corvus shook his head. “I don't normally eat much for breakfast,” he said. “I'm fine.”

“Very well,” Severus said and motioned to the door. “After you.”

As they passed through the hallways very few students were out and about. Some did give a small hello - all of whom were his Slytherins - and a few portraits nodded a greeting, but most were still occupied in the Great Hall it seemed. Severus was glad; if he didn't see trouble, he couldn't be delayed by it. 

The sun was unfortunately bright when they stepped outside, nearly blinding for a moment. While it was not uncommon for it to rain this time of year, a few days were like today: unnecessarily and unbearably cheerful. Feeling his brow crease he set a brisk pace and did not stop until they had passed the school gates. Only then did Severus realize his son had not spoken a word since they'd stepped outside his rooms. 

Hopefully that wasn’t a sign the boy was  _ thinking _ . That could be dangerous.

“Have you ever side-along apparated before?” Severus asked.

“Side along what?” Corvus asked, scrunching his nose up.

Well that answered that question. “Nevermind. I am going to apparate us both to the ministry. Since I am taking you with me but you are not performing the spell, you are side-along apparating. Most find the experience disconcerting at first. Do not be surprised if you feel ill. Try to vomit away from others if you feel the need. Also, do not distract me. If I lose my concentration I could splinch us and you’d have a fair amount of trouble with only one leg.” He grabbed Corvus’ arm.

“I could lose a-”

Severus apparated them.

Corvus’ question ended with a green face and gulp.

“Breathe,” Severus reminded him.

A few deep breaths later and Corvus’ color had returned. Severus moved them away from the apparation point and past the gold statues.

“I don’t think I like apparating,” Corvus said.

“It is less of an issue when you cast the spell, but the feeling does require a certain amount of practice.”

“Next time let’s just take a car.”

Corvus still looked pale, but he hadn’t thrown up yet. That was good, but he likely still needed a distraction. “Have you any more questions about today?”

Corvus swallowed, his breathing deliberately slow. “Will it hurt?”

“No,” Severus answered lightly. “The worst is a few pricks for blood, but the spell to draw it is painless.”

The younger boy frowned. “Then why don’t we use that spell in class for potions? Why do we use the knives?”

The side of Severus’ mouth quirked up in a smirk. “Who said you had to use knives?”

“But-”

“I say every year there will be no useless wand waving or silly incantations in my class,” Severus said carefully. “I have the speech memorized for the first years. Tell me: is a spell used in the process of potion making useless? Or silly?”

Corvus shook his head. “Not if it’s part of the process?”

“Precisely.”

* * *

Lucius watched Severus interact with his son and silently congratulated himself on his timing. He couldn’t help his curiosity; one meeting with the boy had him endlessly distracted.

When -  _ when  _ \- had Severus had a child? With  _ whom _ ?

As dour as Severus was he never would have abandoned a child. He had too many “daddy” issues. Too many scars from his own troubled relationship with his father. Severus may not have believed himself father material, but he knew the importance of family.

But before they noticed him eavesdropping - “Severus, it’s good to see you this morning. And young Corvus as well. First time at the Ministry?”

“First time side-along apparating while awake,” Severus answered for his son. “We need to check in so we can proceed to the Family Services area.”

“By all means, go ahead. I’ll wait with Corvus while you take care of things.” Lucius smiled down at the black-haired boy. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Corvus startled, then gave a small shake of his head. 

Severus watched his son carefully, but didn’t waste time before accepting the decision. Severus  _ hated _ to be late. “Stay in sight,” Severus ordered the child. “Do not hesitate to call me if you need me.” After a quick nod from Corvus, Severus left.

Lucius raised an eyebrow as he watched Corvus shift nervously without his father. It was a little hard to believe Dumbledore had required the paternity tests of Severus. What was the old man up to? Their Lord would be interested as well, so he had good reason to spy on the spy - and on the spy’s son. It had taken quite a few firecalls last night, but even Narcissa had been supportive of his meddling. That was almost as rare as white dragons. While Lucius could understand the child being uncomfortable, he found it rather interesting that Corvus didn't attempt to hide his fidgeting. He didn’t look much like a proud snake. He looked like a child. Had Draco seemed so young only a year ago?

“Nervous?” Lucius asked the obvious, hoping to get the boy talking.

Corvus jerked in surprise, then nodded. “Never heard of this before,” the child said, biting his lip. “Snape said it didn't hurt, though.”

Lucius knew; he'd heard Corvus ask as Severus had helped his son recover from apparating. “Snape?” he asked, confused by the name. 

One small shoulder shrugged. “Don't know what else to call him. I can't call him dad, and it's weird to call a parent by their first name.”

“But it's not odd to call a parent by his last?” Thankfully Severus was far enough away he wouldn't overhear, though the man was keeping his son in sight as he checked in. Who knew what Narcissa would do if Lucius accidentally put him in a foul mood?

Corvus frowned. “I don't know,” he finally said. “It's not like I ever had parents before.”

“You should try calling him father,” Lucius suggested. “Or at least call him Severus. He won't mind.”

It didn't erase the frown, but Lucius could tell the child was thinking about it. 

“How did you like the book I gave you?” Lucius asked, turning the conversation so the young Snape would stay interested despite the bustle of the atrium. 

“I haven't gotten very far yet.” A pink mouth opened, closed, then opened again in a very deliberate choice of words. “ _ Father _ asked me to look over some of the more recent coursework, so I've had that. Schoolwork’s boring, though. I did read some last night. It’s interesting. Not what I expected. I fell asleep three chapters in, though. I can see why Draco liked it.” There was a small hesitation over that name, but not as much as the ‘father’ earlier. “Did they really have flying carpets in Egypt?”

“They still do,” Lucius said. “Perhaps someday I could take Draco and yourself to go see them. Egyptians favor them over brooms.”

“How do they play Quidditch, then?”

Lucius laughed. He couldn’t help it; Draco had asked him the very same thing. “On brooms, of course. They special-order them from other countries to be able to compete. They have their own sports, of course, but the thrill of Quidditch lets some of them overcome the preference for flying rugs.”

“I think a magic carpet might be fun,” Corvus insisted.

“Perhaps for a recreational ride or two,” Lucius smiled. “Or even a romantic dinner. But they are hardly practical.”

“Oh.”

Corvus seemed to deflate slightly and Lucius realized he had dimmed the child’s excitement. Awkwardly, he tried to change the subject again: “What about the school subjects? You said Severus was having you review them. Do you have a favorite?”

“Not really,” Corvus said. “My defense work is the best, but I’m not good at offensive spells.”

“Perhaps you will enjoy your classes more when you can participate in practical classwork.”

“Maybe,” Corvus shrugged, then seemed to consider it for a moment. “I guess it just doesn't matter to me very much,” he said. “I have to take them, so I'm taking them. Whether or not I like them isn't important.”

“How unlike your father,” Lucius chuckled. 

That got the boy's attention. “What do you mean?”

“Severus was very competitive when he was in school, at least academically. It was his goal to beat his rival in every subject possible. In many he did, though Potter did give him a good run.”

“Discussing me behind my back?” Severus asked, walking towards them and placing a hand on his son's shoulder. “I wish I could say I'm surprised, but I'm not.”

“Are we ready to proceed?” Lucius asked. 

“Yes, we have our escort,” Severus said and rolled his eyes at the harried looking intern who was doing his best to keep a straight face. “We can walk together for a ways.” He motioned for the blonde to lead the way. “I didn't have the chance to ask earlier, Luce. What brings you to the ministry today?”

Lucius kept his pace even with the other two, the ministry official following behind them. “I'm to act as witness for you, actually,” Lucius smiled. “Along with an auror and Madame Fredswytch from the department of Child Health and Magic. I received notification last night.”

“I don't think I know Madame Fredswytch,” Severus frowned. 

“She graduated a few years after my father,” Lucius said. “She's known to be a fair and honest woman, if a bit - well -” he glanced down at Corvus for a moment, then said: “unladylike.”

By which he meant (as they soon found out) she dressed in the muggle fashion of shorts, a revealing blouse, and sharp heels under an open robe. “What’s everyone waiting for, an invitation?” she asked as the entered the waiting room. The first official - Lucius hadn't caught his name and considered him completely irrelevant - left them in her  _ faire  _ care. “Get in here.”

Severus’ eyebrow was twitching. “Are you certain that's appropriate before children?” he whispered as he passed. 

“Gets their minds off the nerves,” she whispered back. With a wink she shoved him through. “Down the hall now. Get yer butt in gear. You. Stop. What is wrong with yer hair?”

Corvus stopped at her command and, confused, lifted his hand to touch his hair. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

Lucius was also confused, and quickly conjured a mirror for the younger student. Corvus’ jaw dropped at the bright red which was streaking through his dark black hair. “The dye was supposed to last another week!” 

Lucius felt his eyebrow want to twitch. Only force of will kept it in place. “You dye your hair?”

“No one in their right mind would want this skunk of a hairstyle,” Corvus said, scowling. “I look like a bad impression of a lost boy.”

“What’s a lost boy?” Severus asked.

Corvus slumped a bit. “Nevermind. Can we stop and pick up more on the way back?”

Severus shook his head, then reached forward and inspected the red strands. “I didn’t expect to see this,” he said, holding a cherry red strand up to the light. “It appears completely natural.”

“That’s what anti-disguise wards do,” Madame Fredswytch said, rolling her eyes. “Make you all natural again. Not many try to hide such an obviously magical trait.”

Corvus shrugged, and mumbled: “It looks horrid.”

“Ya look fine,” the witch said. “Now, into the room. We’ve got potions to make.”

* * *

With all the fuss and bother, Harry had expected something horrible. The removal of the hair dye had been startling - Snape  _ could _ have warned him! - and his eyesight had gone a little blurry, but the actual test itself was rather simple. A line of bubbling potions had been set out on a desk. The man behind the desk would point to a vial and give Harry an instruction. Once Harry had completed what he was told, the man would write something down on a piece of parchment.

After three drops of blood in one vial, then a hair clipping in another, the sound of his voice in a third, and so on and so forth, Harry wondered if they were done. The last vial on the desk was empty. 

“Six drops of blood,” the man said.

Harry hesitated. “But-” he bit his lip, looked at the others in the room, then charged forward: “the vial’s empty.”

“Six drops of blood,” the man repeated, his tone dry.

An auror was watching, and that official, and Lucius, and Snape. They were all waiting. Harry looked at Snape’s shoes and said: “I don’t understand.”

“They will take your blood and preserve it, then wait two days and repeat several tests to ensure the same result,” Severus said. “It is illegal for them to use the blood for any other purpose,” he added gently, “and any blood not used will be destroyed.”

“So - so it’s okay? To just drop it in there?”

Snape nodded. “Use the same spell as before to prick your finger.”

Harry hesitated only a moment longer, then did as he was asked.

The man preserved and sealed all the vials, rolled up the parchment, and began packing the glass vials delicately in a box labeled “MINISTRY PROPERTY - DO NOT TAMPER”. “Thank you for your time,” the man muttered.

“I can show you back to the atrium,” the female worker said.

“That’s it?” Harry asked. “But - what’s the result?”

“We will be notified of the result in three day’s time,” Snape said, using one hand to guide Harry out the door. “Two days after that, the results will be printed in the Daily Prophet and become a part of the ministry’s public records.”

“They publish it in the  _ paper _ ?”

“One reason why some avoid this route,” Mister Malfoy said. “It would be socially devastating if a result you didn’t want was published.”

“Then - then you’re sure?” Harry asked, turning to his professor. “You-” he couldn’t say it.

Snape raised an eyebrow, then his face softened a bit. “You’re my son,” he said. “I know the potions used, and what the results mean. Positive results across the board. Repeating a few tests is merely a formality.”

Harry’s steps faltered for a moment, and he gripped onto Snape’s robe for stability. He stumbled through a farewell to Mr. Malfoy, the words just a buzz in his ears. He stayed like that all the way to the atrium, where they parted to use the floo. He landed in Snape’s rooms and his legs buckled under him.

He was Snape’s son. 

Professor Snape was his  _ father _ .


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

Severus was surprised at Corvus’ reaction to hearing the test results. Had he expected anything different? Severus had ensured the tests would be positive with the potion Corvus had taken. Corvus  _ knew _ that. Or was this another panic attack? He  _ had _ been reluctant about giving blood - perhaps there were bad memories there, as well. “How is your eyesight?” Severus asked, hoping to distract his son from the tests.

Corvus was looking blankly at the couch when he answered. “It’s been a little blurry since that thing that took the dye from my hair, but it's not bad.”

“We are not striving for ‘not bad’,” Severus reminded him dryly. “You can have lunch with your friends while I prepare the next dose. Then I will administer the drops and you can rest here until dinner. Draco, Vincent, and Gregory will be stopping by this evening. You can fulfill your promise to bake for him then.”

“You're okay with me using your kitchen?” Corvus raised his head and turned it to look at Severus, finally startled into moving. 

“So long as it is supervised use, you may. Do not attempt to cook - or bake - without an adult present. I find myself curious that you feel confident in cooking but are below average in potions.”

“Yeah, I thought you might have heard that.” He looked sheepish. 

“While potion making is closer to muggle chemistry, the two are not so dissimilar as to account for the trouble.”

“Huh?”

Severus frowned at the cabinet. He thought he'd put the bat ears away, but they weren't in their usual spot. Maybe they were still in the lab? “You have an unusual amount of trouble with the subject. You shouldn't,” he restated. 

“Not my fault.”

“Agreed,” Severus said, frowning. “You've missed too many classes thanks to adventures outside class - and the resulting time spent in the hospital wing.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I was going to say I followed the directions, they just don't usually work right.”

“Hmmm.” Severus found the bottle of powdered eagle eye (which wasn't really eagle eyes; whomever came up with the term needed to relearn language) and placed it in his pocket. “Go eat lunch. Be back by two for the drops.”

“Ok,” Corvus said. A few minutes later the door opened and closed. 

Severus exited the other door; the classroom was closer to the lab. What had he done with those bat ears?

* * *

“We've managed to secure communications with wizards in Edinburgh, as well as Bath and Grantham. It has been a bit more difficult to secure communications with Nottingham, as there appears to be some sort of natural magic there pulling the lines out of place.”

“What kind of magic?”

“Thief’s magic, my lord. The fuel for those ‘Robin Hood’ myths, I would guess. Oxford and Cambridge have been elusive as well - muggles go there for education, apparently. With the higher number of muggles in these towns, ministry presence is higher - almost as high as it is in London. Once we establish stable footholds, however, key lines can be drawn-”

“Knott, you are my communications specialist, are you not?” Voldemort interrupted, inwardly chuckling at his own play on the man's name.

“Yes my Lord,” Theodore Knott Sr replied, bowing his head. “Communication and information relay magic. I assure you the key lines will work and will be secure. I have tested this magic in my own home, though granted it was on a much smaller scale. The theory is sound.”

Voldemort waved the assurances off. If Knott failed, he would die. The man was aware of that. “I wish information on another topic. Hogwarts,” Voldemort said calmly. “What has your son told you? Have there been positive changes since Umbridge was removed?”

“Yes my Lord,” Knott answered, though he kept his gaze to the floor. “My son writes that, while it was easier to keep the other houses in line previously, with the removal of Umbridge’s restrictions it is now easier to move about the castle and observe. Students of other houses, particularly Gryffindor, act as if a threat has been removed. The atmosphere is lighter, though awkward, even with the recent memorial service and the death of Harry Potter. He did state that no counseling sessions were made available, though Severus did offer his time so it is likely other professors did the same. The new defense instructor seems competent, and demonstrations as well as practical lessons have resumed. He has asked me for permission to formally court Corvus Snape, and has otherwise progressed admirably in his classes-”

“Say that again,” Voldemort demanded.

Knott paused. “He’s been doing admirably-”

“No. The part about Snape,” Voldemort said.

“My son asked me to write a letter asking for formal permission to court Corvus Snape, my Lord,” Knott said, looking and sounding confused. His forehead wrinkled as he tried to work out what was wrong with what he had just said, but Voldemort gave no hint.

“And did you?” was all the Dark Lord asked.

“Of course. I sent the owl this morning. No one has caught his interest before, my Lord, and my son researched Corvus’ family tree. While he was raised muggle, and while Severus does have a muggle father, Corvus’ line is still acceptable.”

“What did he find on the mother?” Voldemort asked.

“I didn’t recognize the name, but she is likely of the Black line - several generations back there was a split when one of the daughters married a foreign wizard and left the country. Since then the line has become wandering mages, if my son’s research is accurate. Weak blood, but still pure. I would have to check, but I believe the line travelled to France, then Germany, and finally America. They returned annually to visit family, but abruptly stopped thirteen years ago. It seemed to be one coincidence too many to be anyone other than the boy’s parents.”

Voldemort threw a stinging curse at the man’s cheek. “Next time you come to me with information, it had better be more than a  _ guess _ ,” Voldemort hissed, pleased by the wide-eyed stare he was getting for the wandless magic.

“My lord-“

“Assumptions and deductions are not facts,” Voldemort hissed. “Has he even bothered to ask?”

“He had hoped to gather more information as part of the courting.”

That was something, at least. He wasn’t totally incompetent. Still, the younger Knott was courting the boy who ghosted after Voldemort at times. The way Corvus abruptly came and went suggested the magic was outside the boy’s control. Which meant it was either something magic willed - or something another wizard did.

Knott had been there, once, when the boy appeared before Voldemort, but due to Knott’s prior incompetence the Dark Lord had been cursing him at the time. Blinded by pain, Knott hadn’t been aware of anything other than the effects of the curse. Voldemort still didn’t know if, like a ghost, Corvus was visible to everyone or just the Dark Lord.

Memory rekindled the anger, and he sent a wordless cutting hex to the man’s arm and dismissed him, warning Knott to keep his blood from dirtying up the floor.

Perhaps the boy was right. Maybe he did need a healer. The last one hadn’t been able to tell him anything, but surely they weren’t  _ all _ as thoughtless as Knott. 

Voldemort turned to head to the Malfoy library. He was spinning in useless circles trying to decide what to do with the boy when it hardly mattered. Potter was dead, he should be making his next move, not dawdling over mysterious magic.

But the idea of magic he didn’t know yet both irritated him and fascinated him. He’d devoted himself to learning as much magic as he could, even as he was required to focus on the most useful first. And if he moved too fast and without thought the ministry would strike back; sacrificing more than necessary had never been in the plan.

When there’d been a plan. Most of his plans had been shot to hell the night that curse rebounded. He needed to work slow, to gather strength, to solidify his forces and keep them working efficiently - not crazily.

That required patience and time. Which left him with idle hours. Hours which could be filled with this new mystery.

When Malfoy dared to enter late in the night, reminding him that food was available if he so desired, Voldemort had decided the Malfoy library was essentially useless. He had yet to find something remotely connected to this strange happening. “Any news?” he asked Malfoy, though he knew there wasn’t. Not really.

“Very little, my Lord,” Malfoy confirmed. “Fudge is attempting to keep Potter’s death quiet, I suppose, as no one knows anyone assigned to handle the Potter affairs. All anyone seems to know is that someone will be transporting the body to his muggle relatives - but no one seems to have investigated the matter and no one knows who was given the task. There was one small stir - apparently Fletcher attempted to remove Corvus from Hogwarts. Severus had him banned from the school for kidnapping. Fletcher was… displeased to know a request had been placed to prevent him from entering the school.”

Voldemort frowned, not pleased that he hadn’t heard such news from Severus himself. “Isn’t Fletcher part of that cursed order?”

“His brother is, my Lord, as well as a known con man and thief. It is not known if the two keep in contact, nor if Auror Fletcher is also on Dumbledore’s side.”

“Investigate closely and see if he did anything beyond frighten the boy a bit. Ask your son, if you must, as I expect the report is a few days old.”

“The boy appeared well this morning, my Lord. He was with Severus at the ministry this morning for the paternity tests.”

“And?”

“There’s no doubt; he is Severus’ son.”

“You realize the problem this poses, don’t you?”

Lucius nodded gravely. “Severus Snape would never forget a child, as he claims happened. Someone is lying.”

“Investigate,” Voldemort hissed.

“Of course, my Lord. I have also sent the books you requested to Severus. I suspect more to be hidden in the Department of Mysteries, but I have yet to find a way past the wards and the unspeakables to investigate that matter further.”

“Copy any book you find, regardless of subject, and bring it to me,” Voldemort ordered. “If the ministry wants to hide it, then we should see if it is worth sharing. The public should know what knowledge has been banned from them.” And maybe they would have more information on - bonds? Links? What kind of magic was this?

“Of course, my Lord,” Lucius said without hesitation. 

“Any news from Severus?” Voldemort asked, “or has our spy only been focusing on his son as of late?”

“He had news, but nothing he could share in an open forum. Something was weighing on him, though. Something about Dumbledore.”

Interesting. What was the old fool up to? “No hint on his own studies?”

Lucius shook his head. “No, my Lord. We were unable to discuss the subject without being overheard.”

“And what about yours?”

Malfoy’s spine went straight, and Voldemort didn’t need the mind arts to know he wouldn’t like the news. “Unsuccessful thus far,” was the reluctant response. “The theory provided is incomplete, so I must admit difficulty understanding how to put the idea into practice.”

Lies. He couldn’t understand the theory - it was all there, right on the surface and in his words like poison. “Best study up, then,” Voldemort said. “And the next time you lie to me I’ll hang you over your own fire pit and roast you like a pig. Maybe then you’ll find the gumption to use your innate magic.”

Lucius paled, and swallowed hard. “Understood, my Lord.”

“So long as you understand… how was Corvus?”

“Nervous,” Lucius answered, obviously relieved by the change in subject. “Wary of giving up his blood.”

“Smart boy, then,” Voldemort praised. 

“It would seem so, though he seemed in a state of shock when he left.”

“Shock?”

“Once Severus confirmed the results as positive, the boy became relatively unresponsive and clung to Severus.”

Voldemort waved the thought off. “Such minor surprises will pass. Fourteen years without a father would certainly cause doubts, no matter what anyone said. Any other news?”

“No, my lord.”

“Then get to work.”

Malfoy fled, and Voldemort picked up the next book, skimming through the pages and stopping when a title caught his eye.  _ Memory of a Dream _ . Interesting.

* * *

Crabbe and Goyle couldn’t stop staring. It was making Harry nervous as he stood at the doorway, wondering where Malfoy was and if he knew how to restart his henchmen.

Was he allowed to say that?

“Don’t just stand there,” Snape snapped, causing Harry to jump. Snape. Snape who was  _ really _ his father. Tests had proven it. “Let them in.”

“Oh, right,” Harry (No, Corvus. He was Corvus. He was Snape’s son.) said, then stood aside and motioned into Snape’s rooms. “Um, come in?”

“Vincent, Gregory, and Draco come by my rooms every few weeks to use the library and study,” Snape explained. “If you have any homework, you may also use this time to complete it and ask any questions you have.”

He was being  _ nice _ . It was  _ weird _ . Like Harry had fallen down the rabbit hole weird. (His name was Corvus. Why couldn’t he remember that?) “I thought you said I was studying with Theodore tonight.”

“Something came up,” Snape said slowly. “Another time.”

Harry had seen the ‘something’; it was a fancy black owl with golden eyes and a parchment tied with green ribbon. Snape hadn’t replied to it yet.

“Why’s your hair red?” Goyle finally asked - or was it Crabbe?

“Apparently there’s magic at the ministry which can remove hair dye,” Harry said slowly, closing the door. “I didn’t know.” He rubbed at the roots of his hair. “Is it that bad?”

“Bright,” Crabbe said.

“Looks like candy,” Goyle added.

Harry winced.

“Certain features are known to rebel against concealment,” Snape (father?) said from where he had set up papers at the kitchen table to grade. “That is the most likely cause for the hue. If so, the drastic color will become more subdued with time so long as you do not attempt further concealment.”

“Oh.” Harry tried to imagine hair that changed color. All he could think of was Tonks and her bubblegum locks. He didn’t think that’s what Snape had in mind.

A half hour later the two other boys had shifted their focus from Harry’s hair to what he was making. Not even Malloy’s arrival (and hair questions) had deterred them. “Um, you  _ still  _ don’t need to stare,” Harry said - again - though this time he was glad they weren’t staring at him. Crabbe and Goyle had their eyes focused on the stove with startling intensity. “They’ll be finished soon.”

“Is this really going to turn into a cookie?” Malfoy asked, using the spoon to poke the uncooked dough. “It doesn’t look like a cookie,” he said skeptically.

“Smells like a cookie,” Crabbe countered.

Goyle nodded sharply, his eyes fierce. “Smells like cookies,” he repeated.

Harry let out a nervous almost-laugh. “You two sure like your sweets,” he said. “Weren’t you supposed to be studying?”

“Speaking of,” Malfoy said. “Uncle Sev - wasn’t Theo supposed to tutor Cory tonight for his detention?”

Snape was quiet for a moment - likely annoyed by repeating himself when Harry had already asked, Harry thought - before he answered: “There was a last-minute change. He’s serving detention with Mister Filch tonight instead.”

Malfoy whistled. “What did he do?”

“Nothing that is any of your concern,” Snape said levelly. “Focus on your studies or now and let Corvus finish his… baking.”

Harry (Corvus-Corvus-Corvus) carefully pulled the cookie sheet from the oven while the three settled at the table, Crabbe and Goyle with longing looks on their faces. Harry carefully shifted each cookie on the sheet with a spatula so they wouldn’t stick, then put the next tray in the oven. That part complete, he set up the cooling rack and carefully moved the cookies onto it. Then he wiped off the used cookie sheet and set it on a towel to cool so he could reuse it.

The process took a few minutes, and when he was finished he knew the cookies would be cool enough to eat. He set four plates out and placed two warm cookies on each the way his aunt had shown him to serve guests. Once he was sure it was Aunt-Petunia-Perfect, he served a plate and a glass to each of the others: Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Snape-Father-Severus.

“None for yourself?” Snape asked. 

Harry shook his head. “I’m still full from lunch.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been meaning to tell you - there are a few potions you need to take. Standard vaccines and the like. You may also benefit from a nutrient potion for a while.”

“Why?” Harry asked, paling a bit. “Am I sick?”

“No, you’re fine. It’s alright,” Snape soothed. “You’re not ill. But the food we serve is different from what you’re used to consuming. You may have trouble adjusting if we don’t supplement your diet. At least until your body sorts itself out. It was Madame Pomphrey’s suggestion.”

“Oh,” Harry said, then got distracted putting the next sheet of cookies together.

“Can we have more?” Crabbe asked, eyeing the other cookies on the cooling rack.

“What else can you make?” Goyle asked, eyes wide. “Fudge? Chocolate? Pie?”

Harry almost smiled. If nothing else, at least his baking was still good!


	32. Chapter 32

"I thought you'd be interested to know that an offer was made for you today," Snape said suddenly.

Harry - Corvus, he was thinking of himself as Corvus now - paused with a plate of cookies in his hands. "An offer... for what?" he asked, confused. The other three had just left, and Harry had stayed behind when Snape had brought up the nutrient potion again, saying there was some on hand. 

"For courting, of course," Snape said, and Harry could hear the slight sneer in the older man's voice but it was forgotten over the panic which seized his mind.

"Courting?"

"While not one of the 39, we are a respectable family," Snape said as he rummaged through a cabinet and inspected vials. Harry wasn’t brave enough to ask what they were and continued to put away the extra sweets Crabbe and Goyle had been sad to leave behind. "It isn't unusual for requests to court to arrive."

"39? So, what, you're just going to sell me?"

"Don't be stupid," Snape growled. "They are only requesting permission to court. No one is being sold. This is not an engagement nor even a contract, neither of which involves selling you. Even if it were - which it is not - no ceremony would take place until the youngest of the pair - in this case, you - was of age and could freely give their own consent. We aren't muggles, and we most certainly don’t deal in slavery.”

"No, you just want to control who I marry," Harry said slowly. In his head it was a perfectly straight line. Courting, marriage. Right?

"Courting is a far cry from marriage,” Snape jabbed out. Harry thought the older man might be trying to explain, but all he could think of was daughters marrying the richest suitors. He wasn’t a daughter - did that make a difference? Snape took a breath and ran his hand through his hair, and Harry noticed he was actually sweating a bit. “These days you’d probably call it ‘dating’, though it’s a bit more formal than taking your girlfriend to dinner. The act of asking permission from the father is an old custom taken by seriously interested pure blood wizards so their intent is clear and it is considered a polite statement of interest," Snape drawled. "It is most certainly not a marriage contract of any sort. Or even a contract at all. You can say no at any point, and so can he. You can choose to date someone else, though I wouldn’t suggest doing so at the same time. Most would be flattered."

Harry hesitated, looking down at his plate. Flattered? By what? He’s barely started classes if you counted sitting in on Snape’s lessons. He'd been sorted - quietly and privately - and he’d only just moved into the dorms. The timing was horrible. He was sleeping in a dorm filled with the sons and daughters of death eaters, and he was supposed to be flattered that one of them wanted to date him but didn't want to say so to his face?

Did he even know whoever it was? Did he get a say?

“Eat,” Snape ordered, nodding at the cookies. “You certainly made enough. Eat one before those two bottomless pits ask for the rest for a bedtime snack.”

“I think I lost my appetite.”

“Is that why you are underweight?” Snape asked. “Because you refuse to eat?”

“What?” Harry asked.

“The subject arose when I was discussing your health with Madame Pomphrey. It is the true reason for the nutrient potion.”

“She didn’t recognize me, did she?” Harry asked, his shoulders slumping as he dumped the last of the cookies in the jar and began to wash the plate. 

“You sound disappointed,” Snape drawled, handing over a small glass with a mouthful of liquid in it. “Need I remind you that it would be counterproductive for someone to recognize you for who you really are?”

“It’s not that,” Harry said, pursing his lips. To tell or not to tell? To delay further, he took the glass and swallowed the small mouthful inside. It tasted like strawberries. 

“Speak,” Snape ordered after Harry was silent for a few moments, “or have you lost the capacity to make noise?”

“I thought for sure she’d know me from the medical scan. I thought you were trying to get me found out.”

Snape turned to face him and raised an eyebrow. “You thought I’d deliberately undo all I have done?”

Harry shrugged, and said quietly: “I thought maybe you didn’t want me anymore.”

“Don’t mumble,” Snape said sharply. “Say it again, and say it clearly.”

Harry took a deep breath, looked Snape in the eye, and said: “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“And why would you think so?”

“I don’t know!” Harry almost shouted. He pushed away from the counter and crossed his arms. “It’s not like I know how to do this-this- this!” he motioned between the two of them to try to show what he could not articulate.

Snape waited a bit, seeming to debate something. Harry squirmed under the glare, wondering  _ what _ he was debating. Suddenly, Snape turned and started returning items to the cupboard. Harry, baffled, just stared at him.

After several moments of silence, Snape pushed the door shut and then moved to sit across from Harry at the table. “We have two options,” he said, “one - my preferred one - is safest, but it will require you to do something you seem to have an extreme difficulty doing.”

“Can I hear the two plans?” Harry asked.

“No.”

“Then how am I supposed to choose?” Harry asked, almost choking.

“I will choose based on what you can do. I need you to make a decision. I need to know if you can trust me.”

“Trust you?” Harry asked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I need you to trust me. As your father. To do as I say and not question my decisions. If you can do this, we will have a much higher chance of success.”

“And if I can’t?”

Snape was silent for a moment. “I will do what I can, but given what we’ve encountered so far, chances are high that we will both die.”

* * *

Severus watched Corvus carefully and made the decision before the boy could even voice his answer. It was written all over Corvus’ face: as much as he wanted to, he couldn't trust Severus like that. Severus doubted he could trust anyone like that; with his background, that might be close to a miracle. 

“I can do it,” Corvus said, face set and determined. “I can do whatever I need to.”

“Whatever you need to… for what?” Severus asked.

“To stay your son.”

“Were you not present at the ministry this morning? No matter what, you will always be my son. The potion you took saw to that.”

“For you to want me, then,” Corvus said without hesitation.

Severus was of half a mind to strangle the boy. “I am not capable of such desires - and before you ask, that is for any child, not because you were once Harry Potter.”

Corvus looked petulant, which was a normal look for him. Still, the boy insisted: “I can trust you.”

Severus knew Corvus couldn’t. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to begin with the safer plan, perhaps even incorporate elements of both when it appeared Corvus was reaching his limits.

“Sneaking up to an open door to eavesdrop will have to stop. Wandering the halls trying to save people will have to stop. If you want to stay my son, you will have to be my son. Fully,” Severus reminded him.

Corvus scowled. “I get it!”

“Do you?” Severus asked, allowing his voice to drop to a growl. “Because you seem to still be under the illusion that you are Harry Potter.”

“It’s a bit hard to stop being someone just like that,” Corvus pouted, “and I may not always  _ like _ you, but I can trust. I drank the potions you gave me, didn’t I?”

Severus nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in that statement. It was a small measure of trust, but it was a start. “I will show you again how I placed memories in a pensieve,” Severus said, watching carefully as his son blinked in confusion at the seeming change in subject. “Each night before bed, you are to place the one memory which most strongly reminds you that you are Harry Potter in a vial using the same process. This will make it easier for you to be Corvus. You will leave the memories in my care, bringing them to me whenever you visit. I will return them to you when you ask so long as it is safe to do so. We will continue doing this until you feel you have left Harry Potter behind, and have enough memories of Corvus to truly  _ be  _ Corvus.” And if Severus lightly tampered with the memories to help the process along, well - it was known to be Dumbledore’s secret talent, was it not? Who was to say it wasn’t the old man messing with the boy’s head?

“Like the funeral?” Corvus finally asked.

“Precisely.”

“Just one?”

Severus caught his son’s eyes to impress the importance of the process. “Only  _ one _ a night. It is dangerous to copy too many too fast.”

Corvus bit his lip, then asked in a small voice: “How does that help with - you know - figuring out all this stuff?”

“It doesn’t,” Severus said bluntly. “It helps with your talent of believing the worst of me. I will admit it may not be  _ entirely  _ unfounded,” the look Corvus gave him was worthy of a scowling goblin, “but we don’t have time to work through this naturally. If we allow the memory of Harry Potter to fade, it will give you a chance for a fresh start.”

“How do I get memories of Corvus?”

“Leave that to me,” Severus said. 

Corvus scowled again. Severus was tempted to tell him his face might stick that way, but kept the taunt to himself. Instead he said: “This is what I meant by trust, Corvus. Now, don’t you want to know who made an offer to court you?”

The scowl changed to a pout and his shoulders slumped. “How much are they giving you?”

“Nothing.”

Corvus jerked in surprise. “What?”

“It’s a courting offer,” Severus said again slowly. “We’re not medieval, no one pays to date another wizard.”

“Why’s it called an offer then?”

“Because someone is offering to spend time with you with the hope of offering more,” Severus said, emphasizing ‘offer’ each time he said it. “Someone is offering to date?” he hesitated over the more modern word in context of the formal tradition, but it did fit.

“Oh.” The boy’s demeanor was much less confrontational now. “Well, I guess I need to know who it is.”

“Theodore Knott.”

Corvus frowned, taking a moment to place the name. “He’s a fifth year, right? Dark hair, usually studying, sometimes hangs out with Za- Zantrini?”

“Zambini, yes,” Severus said. “Knott was meant to tutor you tonight, until I got the note.”

“Oh.” Corvus didn’t seem to know what to do with this information, fidgeting where he sat. 

“I need to give a response,” Severus said, unable to keep a bit of bite out of his voice. “Do you accept?”

Corvus jerked again. “I - you want me to choose?”

“It is your courting,” Severus said drily. “I can always send back that you’re too young and he can ask again in a year or two.”

Corvus’ face went red. “I’m not a baby.”

Severus let him think, ignoring the comment, and spelled the rest of the dishes to wash themselves. There weren’t many, but he had a lot of work to do and this conversation was taking a lot longer than he’d planned. He didn’t think he’d have to explain something as common as dating to the boy. 

“I - I don’t have to do anything, do I?” he asked, and Severus could hear the hesitation and the almost-stutter in his voice.

“You can stop at any time. Including now.”

The boy breathed. “Harry Potter wouldn’t want to,” he said, “but- but I think Corvus would like to try.”

Severus nodded. That was something. 

* * *

**The Daily Prophet, Society Pages, Section IV, article 7, bottom of page 3.**

**CHALLENGE TO SNAPE LINE**

A reliable source has informed this reporter that there is trouble brewing in the house of Prince. As you, my dear readers, know, Eileen Prince married a man named Tobias Snape and brought muggle blood into the family line. She was cast from her family as a disgrace, though not technically disinherited. Eileen had one son, Severus Snape, who currently serves as Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite estrangement from the rest of his magical family, Severus has done well for himself as a potions brewer and inventor. He has published several articles in  _ Potions Today, Potions Theory _ , and the ever-popular  _ How To Brew _ .

A few weeks ago I stumbled upon a small announcement that our mysterious professor had found a long lost son by the name of Corvus Snape. While no ministry record of marriage for the professor exists - believe me, I’ve checked! - the birth record states young Snape’s mother was a wandering witch. The name was unavailable for undisclosed reasons, but a source at the ministry has shed some light on the subject.

My dear readers, I am sorry to say that someone doubts the truth of the relationship between this father and son. Someone challenged the pair, accusing them of the outrage of deceiving an entire school and their peers. Could Corvus Snape, age 14, be capable of such actions? Surely not, though innocence on his part does not guarantee innocence for all parties. Rumors of all sorts are already circulating; the child did disappear right after the demise of the Dark Lord, after all, and to keep the mother a secret seems odd. 

Witnesses have confirmed the child is small for his age, a trait likely inherited from his mother. From his father he received dark hair and a slight frame, but contrary to the pure black hair of Professor Snape, the younger child shows spectacular red highlights. Coupled with bright green eyes gossip that Corvus might be You-Know-Who’s love child are easily thwarted. It is the guess of this author that the mother was descended from one of the wandering forest fae.

Results of the paternity test are to be published this Friday.

_ Author: Truthful Terrance Knott-Gladimere _

_ Graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry _

_ Opinion Columnist, Second Division, Third Class _

* * *

Draco glared at Theodore when he saw the other boy enter the common room. “Knott,” he called out. “We need to talk.”

A dark eyebrow rose, the corner of Theodore’s mouth turning down as he glanced around the room. Crabbe and Goyle, Draco’s usual shadows, were out somewhere doing who-knows-what. Most of the common room was actually empty; Draco had planned it that way. He needed to talk to Theodore, not embarrass him. “Here?” Knott asked.

Draco tilted his head a bit. “If you like,” he said, “or we can find a space elsewhere.” 

Theodore’s face calmed as he picked up on the hint. While he might not want to shout the topic out to the masses, it wasn’t private. “The dorm?” Private, but not so private as to be suspicious. 

Draco nodded, letting Theodore lead the way. Being the first in the room, Knott picked one of the desk chairs and sat in it. The choice was a not-so-subtle hint that he had nothing to hide and was in control. Draco leaned back against his own desk, crossed his arms, and tried to look superior the way his father did. “Have you seen the prophet today?” he asked.

“I’d be a fool if I hadn’t,” Theodore replied.

“Then you have some explaining to do.”

“I really don’t think I do. Not to you, at least,” the dark-haired fifth-year said.

Blonde eyebrows drew together in an angry scowl. “You think I’m not going to get questions over this?” he demanded. “I’ve aligned myself with him, as the son of my godfather. My entire family has. Rumors are already flying.”

“That your family were the ones to question him?”

“No. We’ve provided enough support before he even arrived to keep those from surfacing, according to my father. But we should know  _ who _ ,” Draco explained, “and we shouldn’t be afraid to say it. Unfortunately it’s a name we can’t really afford to cross at the moment.”

Theodore’s eyebrows rose. “You  _ know _ ?”

“You don’t?”

Theodore shifted in the chair, suddenly uncomfortable. “There were multiple possibilities,” he said. “Narrowing it down to one required making a few assumptions.”

It was a political answer, not really revealing anything, and they both knew it. “Explain to me the purpose of your cousin’s article and why you care, and I’ll help you narrow down your possibilities.”

Theodore considered the offer, but Draco knew he wouldn’t take it. Not as it was, at least. Theodore was a Slytherin, and knew he could press for a better deal. The question was: could Draco do better?

The dark-haired boy leaned back in his chair, a quill twirling in the air as one hand drummed against the desk in thought. “You’re going to Bath this upcoming weekend, right?”

Draco nodded. “Yes.”

“And you’ve invited Snape and Corvus to spend the winter holiday with your family?”

“Of course.” It wasn’t a secret.

“Then I have an alternate proposal.”

Draco’s eyebrow was the one to climb up this time, wondering what his plans had to do with Theodore. “I’m listening.”

“I’ve asked my father and Severus for permission to court Corvus. I expect a positive response soon; I know the professor has already sent an owl to my father. While you are away for the Hogsmeade weekend, you’ll have Crabbe and Goyle ensure Corvus and I can have a quiet date. And you will arrange for me to visit Corvus over the winter holiday.”

“No,” Draco immediately protested. “I’ll  _ ask  _ Crabbe and Goyle for Hogsmeade weekend, but it’s still their choice, if we can strike a deal. You’ll have to offer up something more than just an explanation if you want to visit during the hols.”

“And why I care - you also wanted to know-”

“You just told me,” Draco smirked. “You’re courting Corvus. Of course you’re interested in his parentage. That’s probably why you’ve been so interested in your family studies when you normally tell your dad to fuck off, if you need to know you can look it up.”

Draco saw Theodore’s mouth curve in the beginning motions of a swear word and then snap shut. While he wanted to, well-bred wizards didn’t swear. At least not in the middle of a negotiation. “You can’t believe that’s my only interest.”

“Don’t care,” Draco said primly, not doubting for a second that Theodore could formulate half a dozen other reasons faster than he could say his own name. “It’s a motivation, and that’s enough. Though as his - shall we say - guide here at Hogwarts I must warn you: if you hurt him, you’ll wish you had a Dark Lord chasing you rather than me.” It was pretty weak as threats went, and the blonde wished he could do better. He just wasn’t well versed enough in the things people did to torture others. Those books were off limits until he was 21 (or never if his mother had her way, but his father was working on it). 

“Hurting him wasn’t exactly in the plan,” Theodore drawled. “Might be a bit off-putting if I get him in bed.”

“Not on the first date you won’t,” Draco growled, the thought making him angry. “He’s not a harlot.”

“Do you even know what that word means?”

“ _ Not  _ on the first date.”

Theodore rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”

Draco wasn’t sure if that was sarcasm or truth, but for the other boy’s sake it had better be truth.

* * *

As much as he was interested in the mystery of Corvus, there were more important things for a Dark Lord to worry about than a scrawny boy from the colonies. Greyback was gathering the packs, quietly spreading the word of changes coming to the ministry. Telling the werewolves to hide until the right time, and weather the storm that was coming. Avery was organizing the wizards in the south as best any could; away from Dumbeldore’s direct influence they were better able to gather ingredients and artifacts beneath the ministry’s notice. There was already a box of amethyst grown in secret given as support for their cause, and he tried not to find any hidden meaning in that. Amethyst was, after all, used to protect against evil. It was also used to clear the mind, enhancing the mind arts, and finding magical balance. Those were the uses he would put it to.

Some would be powdered and readied for potions, some would be set in protective earrings and jewelry, a few would be kept back for use in rituals and the rest would be sold or traded.

Knott was still working on a method of communication which would be more efficient - and private - than floos and owls. That was the one area the ministry was disturbingly good at: listening in and invading privacy. They even had minors monitored to ensure they didn’t use magic outside school! As if it were their business.

Voldemort had halted all raids against muggles and muggle-lovers alike. The ministry thought he was dead and he was more than happy to let them keep thinking that until it was too late. Secrecy would be the key to his success this time around.

The problem, though, was Dumbledore. He was planning something, but there was no way of knowing what - or how Potter’s death had changed those plans. Severus’ information was sketchy at best. They hinted around something Voldemort couldn’t let Dumbledore know, and he didn’t dare tell Severus. A double spy was a double betrayer.

A cold thought entered the dark mind. Had Snape betrayed him already? Was he, perhaps, hiding something from his lord?

“Lucius,” Voldemort hissed, sending a pulse through the mark. “Come to me.” The only way to know would be to investigate - and to do it himself. He couldn’t trust anyone else with this task. If he was lucky, he would find out what Dumbledore was up to as well. 

The Lord Malfoy looked a bit haggard when he arrived. His hair was in disarray and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone. Still, he bowed and knelt and said “yes my lord” as was expected of him.

“I have a task for you,” Voldemort said slowly, caressing his wand and staring at the bowed head. The last time he had done anything covert himself, he’d still been in his twenties. As he aged he’d become more overt in his actions.

Perhaps that was where he’d gone wrong. Perhaps this return to the old ways would be more successful than the big raids.

“I will be traveling for a few weeks,” Voldemort finally said. “Perhaps longer. I will leave Thursday evening and do not expect to return before Yule. You will keep Knott on task for establishing the network. Do not let the gems go to waste either. See how much powdered material Severus needs and make sure it is available in your downstairs lab. Do not send it to him at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lucius replied.

“I expect to see everything moving smoothly when I return - and I expect to see progress in your own learning. You will attempt to learn wandless magic, or you are useless to me and I will find someone else to take your place.”

The blonde was trembling. “Yes, my lord,” he said again.

“And now for the other tasks I have set you.” Lucius visibly tensed, forcing the tremors to still. “I am summoning Severus here, today, to brew some potions for me and to check his progress on wandless magic. You are to ensure he eats, has the materials he needs, and that none of the supplied materials leave with him. 

“In addition, In three days time you will find a cat in the main floo reception area. Give the animal to Severus to care for. He will need to leave before that, so drop the animal off when you pick up your son.” He could practically feel the questions in Lucius’ mind even without touching it, but he didn’t answer them. Three days would be Saturday; Voldemort would need to be early to arrive before Lucius left. “Any questions?”

“No, my lord,” the other man answered, his body dipping lower for a moment and deepening the bow. “It will be done as you say.”

“Send any owls directed to me to my office. I will be unable to answer where I’m going. Direct any truly urgent owls to Nagini. She will still be here, and she will know how to reach me.” It would be tricky, but there were parts of the chambers outside the anti-portkey wards. He could set up a portkey for her and have her meet him in the dungeons. He would make do from there. “Leave. I have arrangements to make.”

He waited until Lucius had left before sweeping from the hall. He didn’t dare use Riddle Manor any longer - at least not until he was openly back - so he had been imposing on his closest followers. He’d be happy to leave Malfoy Manor for Hogwarts, his only true home. Even if he would be transfigured into a cat, it was the only place which held truly happy memories for him.

First he would check the labs and ensure they were set up for long-term potion work and have a list of potions for his spy to brew. He would keep Severus busy for a few days, Dumbledore be damned, while he ensured he could still transfigure himself. He would only send the potions master back when he was too tired to closely question the addition of an animal to his duties. It wouldn’t hurt to quiz the man over wandless magic theory while he was at it as well.


	33. Chapter 33

Severus frowned when his mark flared immediately following the conclusion of his final class of the day. The timing was too near perfect for his peace of mind. As the students packed up their supplies he scratched out a quick note for the Headmaster, then passed it to one of his more reliable Ravenclaw students to deliver. He waited impatiently for the last of the students to leave the classroom so he could make certain all the dangerous materials were put away and no cauldrons full of potion were left out before locking up. Then he quickly returned to his quarters, changed, and flooed to Malfoy Manor. 

He didn’t waste time greeting Lucius or even searching for his old friend; the manor wards would have alerted him to the guest and the houselves would report a masked DeathEater had entered. Instead he went directly to the room the Dark Lord had made his office, bowing after he entered. “You summoned me, my Lord?” he asked. 

“Severus,” the other man practically hissed. “I am pleased you came so quickly. Can I hope you have news to share?” Lucius had indicated he had news on Dumbledore and Voldemort had yet to hear it. He wasn’t known for his patience. 

“I have, my Lord.” Severus let his mind wander as he reported dull facts of Order business. He reported on the funeral, on the werewolf’s presence and tasks, and his suspicion that Potter’s body would go to the house of Black before making a final stop with the muggles. He reported on Dumbledore’s trouble with the ministry, on the replacement Dark arts teacher banning an order member from the castle, and the strange ability of some fifth year students to cast a patronus. That, he reported, could only be the result of Albus’ training. Then he hesitated. 

“What else, Severus?” The Dark Lord hissed. “What news?”

“I had an - unusual - visit,” Severus admitted. He allowed his mind to wander to the right places, everything else blurry and dull while Remus stood out in sharp focus. “The werewolf came by my quarters around the time of the funeral. He insisted on knowing about my son’s mother.”

“Dumbledore spying on his spy?” Voldemort hissed.

“I don’t believe so, master, though that is one explanation. He seemed concerned. The werewolf was under the impression that Dumbledore was trying to convince him my son was Harry Potter.”

Voldemort slammed into Severus’ mind, scouring through the encounter. Severus had no control over it, the memory close to the surface and vivid and - 

And linked to another memory, one Severus had not expected. He was startled when the Dark Lord pulled forward the memory of Severus, in pain and shaking in the hall, speaking to Dumbledore about his son. Dumbledore assuring him he’d checked in on the boys, and (so very tightly linked) Draco looking confused and telling him no one had stopped by Severus’ rooms. Corvus, small and sleeping on the couch, arranged over Draco’s -

Draco’s shoulder in the hospital wing. Mumbling and tripping over his own feet. Dumbledore casting a featherlight spell so Draco could carry Corvus while they tended to Harry Potter -

The Dark Lord pulled out of his mind as Severus fell forward. He hadn’t realized those three memories were linked so closely in his mind, and he’d been unable to hide that surprise from the Dark Lord; Severus had been startled when the train of thought hadn’t derailed to something more relevant to the Dark Lord’s plans. 

“I think we’ll add veritaserum to the list of potions you’ll be brewing today,” Voldemort said, red eyes speculative. “And then you can tell me if your son is Harry Potter.”

“My Lord-“

“You know where the lab is, Snape,” snapped the impatient Lord. “There is a list of things I need before Thursday. You have two days. You’ll just have to work this one in too.”

“The brewing takes at least a month, my Lord, if not more,” Severus said, wondering if he had headache relievers, pepper-ups, and stay-awake tonics stored. He couldn’t afford to worry about what the truth serum might reveal right now. “I can begin brewing tonight, but it will require weekly monitoring and at least two reductions to be effective.”

“Be very careful, Snape,” Voldemort hissed. “I’ll have none of your tricks. Begin brewing tonight and have it ready two days before the New Year. We can test it on your son - just in case you had any silly ideas about making poison instead.”

Severus bowed his head. “Of course not. It will be done as you ask.”

Plans on top of complicated plans, Voldemort realized with a deep breath through a nose that made such an action hurt, made the world a tangled mess. If he did not wish to drive himself insane he needed to be able to trust those under his command - and they needed to trust him. But trust took time, and time was one thing he did not have.

“Leave your mask and robes here,” the Dark Lord commanded. “It would not be easy to brew with them on. If there is anything you do not have, inform Lucius immediately. You do realize, Severus, I do  _ wish _ to trust you. Circumstances make that difficult without proof.”

“Dumbledore is skilled at manipulating others,” Severus said with his head still bowed and his eyes on the floor, still recovering from the intrusion to his mind and restoring the shields that had been breached. “I am grateful you would take the time to ensure he has not manipulated your spy.”

And there was the sidestepping Voldemort had come to expect from the hook-nosed man. “Go, brew the potions I require of you, and remember: I will be watching.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said. He rose, removed his robes, and then left. Once the door closed the Dark Lord levitated the clothes and mask to the corner of the room and threw a silencing spell over the pile.

_ “You still wish for me to steal the future-seeing tonight, nestling?” _ Nagini asked, tasting the air as the dark-haired man left. Voldemort was, perhaps, being a bit paranoid with his actions, but he didn’t want to take the chance there were eavesdropping spells on them. Severus might not tell Dumbledore what he heard, but that didn’t mean the old man wouldn’t find a way.

_ “I’m a bit too old to be a nestling, Nagini,”  _ the Dark Lord answered, taking a seat and staring at the closed door as the snake slithered out from under a cabinet. 

_ “Says who?” _ she asked.  _ “Tell me and I will bite them.” _

Voldemort bit back a laugh.  _ “There is no one to bite, precious, but I would not object to you terrorizing a few rats. I can think of one in particular who is almost completely useless.” _ There’d been fluffy pink bunny cookies on his tea tray the last time Wormtail had been sent to arrange the menu.

_ “Biting is more fun,” _ she complained.  _ “Perhaps I can bite someone when I fetch the future-seeing?” _

_ “Actually, I have a different idea,”  _ the man said, his mind snatching on scraps of thought and pulling them together.  _ “Would you be willing to fetch something for me - something other than future-seeing? We can leave that in the ministry’s hands for now. With the boy dead, there is something else I need for my plans.” _

_ “If the nestling wishes it, I would fetch him anything within my reach. What is it we need?” _

* * *

Harry- _ Cory _ , blast it!- was worried when he didn’t see his  _ father  _ at dinner. He tried to shrug it off since it was only a meal and it wasn’t like every professor came to every meal.  _ Cory  _ had even eaten several meals with Snape in his rooms. He kept an eye on the head table, asked Blaise for tips on turning hedges into hedgehogs, and found himself blushing when Theodore served him dessert. 

Guess that wasn’t a secret after all. 

“He eats in his rooms sometimes, you know,” Theodore said, “when he’s got work to do or can’t leave a potion.”

“I wasn’t worried,”  _ Cory  _ said. “Not really. Just - I don’t know.”

“It takes some getting used to,” Draco chimed in from across the table. “Are you used to eating with your family?”

Cory paused. Had his prior school been a boarding school, like Hogwarts, or had it been like his muggle schools where he stayed at home and traveled each day? “We didn’t always eat together,” he finally said. “But we did when we could.” He turned to Draco. “What do you and your father talk about?”

“What?” Draco didn’t spew his juice, but it was a near thing. Harry Potter would have found it funny, but instead Harry-Corvus found himself annoyed by the delay. 

“Your father,” Cory repeated. “What do you talk to him about?”

“School, I guess. Mom. What I want for Christmas, and what he wants. What we’re going to do. Why?”

“I never had one before, and I don’t really know what to do with him.”

Theodore let out a small laugh. “No one does anything with Snape,” he said. “You wait for him to come to you.”

“He’s not just Sev’s student, Theodore,” Draco said with a frown. “They’re family.”

“So he asks for extra credit the way he asks for ice cream,” Jamie - one of the fourth year girls - said. “You are currently the only student in the entire school who has a parent on staff. Even if it is professor Snape, you can get away with a lot more than we can. Take advantage of it.”

* * *

This was ridiculous. If that mangy  _ rat _ could manage to complete the animagus shift then he should be more than capable of a bit of self-transfiguration.

Granted, the two arts weren’t  _ exactly _ the same. They were similar enough to fool most wizards and witches, including aurors, but magic knew the difference. The animagus transformation was deeper, pulling forward animal thought and even transforming the wizard’s ability to access magic to match that of the animal form. If left too long in that state a wizard - or witch - would forget he was human.

Transfiguration was different, and he  _ should _ be able to manage that much! It was only surface-level and left the wizard with very human brain functions. A wizard could transfigure into any animal - or object - they wished, but they could only shift into one unique animal as an animagus. Their animal alter-ego.

It was unfortunate Hogwarts did not allow the keeping of snakes. He could have easily sent Nagini on this task in his stead.

Annoyed by his own lack of progress, Voldemort found himself meditating. He hadn’t done so in a long time before the Potter incident - hadn’t needed to - but since his rebirth he had found it helped with his frustrations. The body constructed for him by the ritual wasn’t perfect. His magical core had been damaged by years without a body and the magic that had formed him had been reluctant at best.

Perhaps he should have tried to get Potter’s blood willingly rather than wrestling it under his control. Too late for that now - besides, the rat never would have managed.

With a deep breath he let the thoughts of the ritual, of his own limitations go. They had no place here, where he was rediscovering his magic and rebuilding his strength. Severus’ potions would help, but would they be enough? The man didn’t even know what he was brewing; if it went wrong he had no way to know to correct the error. 

He let the thought go. What happened would happen. Severus was too skilled to make a mistake in the brewing. If there was an error it would be because the potions were experimental at best. Without knowing the purpose, Snape would be unable to determine how to sabotage - or if he would even want to.

That being thought, it was time to go down and distract the younger man from his work. If he focused too hard, Snape could work himself into a frenzy that ultimately led to betrayals. He didn’t need the man running to Dumbledore in a panic. Not over a simple tracking spell, at least. Fourteen years was a long time and Snape’s loyalty had always been fickle.

The lab was not in the dungeons as Snape preferred. The potions master was of the opinion that thick stone walls at least partially underground helped to contain any explosive results. While true, the wizard who had built the Malfoy lab was more focused on proper ventilation. The lab was on the first floor, tucked into a space between the kitchens and the outside gardens. The walls were made of hard granite, a stark contrast to the masonry of the rest of the house, with long arrow-slit windows from ceiling to floor. The windows were close enough together only a few cauldrons could fit on the shelves between them, but as a result there was very little danger of potion fumes leading to dizziness, bad decisions, or rashes (amongst other poor results). On bright days the sun streaked through the slit windows creating a play on shadow and light which looked like the bars of a jail cell. The moon currently showing did not have the same effect, but a splash of light shown outward from the lab and caught the tail of a white peacock from the lawns and in the distance dogs barked. The lab almost felt like it was outside.

Voldemort waited until he knew the potion was at the simmering stage before alerting the potions master to his presence. “A decent start, I see,” he hissed, just holding back from slipping into the snake language. Severus’ hands were steady but his head jerked a bit as he startled, reminding the older wizard of a spooked horse. Voldemort knew how important it was for a potions master to have steady hands; one wrong move and they could all be dead. Perhaps it was best he hold back from the curses with lasting effects. It wouldn’t do for his potions master to develop a tremor. “I can only hope your studies are progressing as quickly.”

Confusion lit in the dark eyes for a moment, then understanding followed swiftly in its wake. Snape had always been quick to see the small hints, and good at making connections. “Not as quickly as I’d like,” he admitted, “but as much as time allows. Teaching does not provide a great deal of time for outside study - at least, not teaching seven different years. I had more freedom when I only had students who had already passed their O.W.L.s.”

“I’m not looking for excuses, Severus.”

“My apologies, my Lord,” Severus said, bowing his head and letting his body tip in Voldemort’s direction. “I hadn’t meant it as one. I simply find it odd that since I began leaking information to Dumbledore he has been steadily adding more and more to my workload with the children. Most other staff members either teach only third year and up, teach until O.W.L.s, or teach after the exams. All other courses which span all seven years have two staff members, yet when Regulus went missing his post was never filled.”

It did not escape Voldemort’s notice that Severus had begun prepping the next ingredients. Neither did he forget Lucius’ comment not so long ago that Severus had asked the senior Malfoy to join him at Hogwarts. “What are you getting at, my spy?” he asked.

“I know you are looking for a second spy within the school. Rather than involve the children, more experienced eyes could prove more accurate and yield better results.”

The Dark Lord sent a sharp stinging hex across the man’s cheek. “Do not seek to distract me from my chosen topic. You know the current climate and current funds would never allow for more staff, no matter the necessity. The cause of that will be reviewed by bookkeepers, not a potions master skirting his lessons.” At least, it would now that he knew of it. “We were discussing  _ your _ progress in wandless magic, unless you’d rather switch to arithmancy.”

Severus shook his head even as he bowed it. The way the lines of his mouth pulled down and the hooked nose wrinkled just the slightest bit, Voldemort could guess he was insulted by the small stinging hex. After years of using unforgivables it was likely more a shock than anything else. “Of course, my Lord,” Severus said steadily. Despite the earlier diversion, the Dark Lord could guess Snape wasn’t deliberately seeking trouble. The tangent had more the feel of a complaint and whining than a delay tactic. The man needed to learn to complain to his peers, not his lord.

“I have read the first few chapters of  _ Wandless Wonders: Accidental Magic Explained _ , but have yet to progress further,” Severus said. It was time to stir the potion before it simmered down to an unhealthy thickness. Since the Dark Lord made no move to stop him, Snape continued with his brewing. Voldemort actually found it relaxing to watch; while not an expert, he could tell well enough if someone was following directions.

“Tell me, then: what is the author’s theory on why young children display magic without wands?” Voldemort demanded. “And don’t forget both moonflower petals and daylily stems in the potion.”

Snape double checked the proportions and preparations before adding the ingredients, never relying on memory even for such a short amount of time, and tried to answer the question. “The author believes it is the child’s need or danger which drives magic to save them, thus the reason why babies bounce and some become adept at hiding.”

“Now tell me three reasons why such a premise is flawed.”

Stained hands wiped down the cutting board in precise movements before pulling the next ingredient to prepare. Voldemort was pleased to see his potions master getting ready for the second creation. The first would need to cool for several hours and Severus wasn’t wasting any time.

“Not all accidental magic is caused by a reaction to fear or danger,” Severus finally said. “Some children - babies, even - make lights above their cradles or make toys float.”

“Correct,” Voldemort praised. “Two more.”

“The author’s theory requires the audience to believe magic is sentient,” Snape said, more hesitant with his second answer. “For magic to be aware. While magic can give objects - such as the sorting hat - the appearance of life, magic itself is not alive. If it were, it would save adults with accidental magic just as readily as it saved children. I would guess her logic stems from the fact that babies cannot be aware they would die from a fall and could not react to the unknown threat.”

“Go deeper,” Voldemort pushed. “Actually think with that brain of yours. If the baby cannot be aware of the danger and we state magic is not sentient, explain the accidental magic.”

“Perhaps-” he hesitated again, confusion on his face, and the Dark Lord could practically hear him thinking  _ why is he asking  _ **_me_ ** _?  _ “Perhaps - babies have an instinct to want to be near their parents. Perhaps the separation causes their magic to react?”

“Then why don’t they fly?”

“Flying is complex magic. A series of charms and spells need to be placed on a broom in a specific order to get the broom to fly. The bouncing effect could be a variation of one of those spells.”

“Or perhaps the accidental magic performed is not initiated by the child,” Voldemort finally suggested. Severus had taken an idea and run with it, and while it was perhaps plausible, the Dark Lord thought his own theory more likely.

Severus nodded as he began heating a second cauldron and placing measured ingredients inside. “A parent’s love for their child is strong, and it is not likely to be the mother dropping a baby to the floor. At least not intentionally. It is possible a parent could subconsciously be attempting to save their child. Particularly since it is an expected response. Accidental magic usually varies based on circumstance. It is unusual to get predictable results with such need-based magic. Why don’t some of them float, or stick to the hands that dropped them?”

“And what conclusion can you draw from this second flaw in logic?”

Three counterclockwise stirs, one sharp sweep of the spoon from left to right, and a drop of rainwater collected from the sky on the night of a full moon. 

A small puff of smoke came from the cauldron - expected and a murky grey - and Severus had yet to answer.

“I’m waiting,” Voldemort pushed, impatient.

Severus was sweating under his many layers, but Voldemort didn’t tell him to get comfortable. He knew the man wore the long robes to hide not only the dark mark, but also scars from his childhood. He also wore them to keep sweat from dripping into his potions and adding unexpected ingredients.  _ Sweat of a potions master _ wasn’t exactly listed in Polonius’ Potion Ingredient Dictionary.

“If the theory that the accidental magic is initiated by the parent is correct, then it means adults are also capable of performing accidental magic,” he finally said. It was slow and unsure, but Snape had said it.

“Correct. Now - the third flaw in her logic.”

* * *

Harry frowned when he walked into the Great Hall and heard giggles. Looking around, he spotted the source of the familiar sound: a group of Gryffindor girls halfway down the table were gathered around a paper or book or something and had found something amusing in it. He let out a sigh of relief. It had taken three days, but the bright cherry red had faded from his hair and it was now the expected dark red, almost brown highlights. They were barely noticeable any more. 

It hadn’t stopped people from giggling behind his back, or making comments just barely loud enough for him to hear. He was glad they seemed to have something else to giggle over. 

That relief died when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Everything okay, Corvus?” Theodore Knott asked. Harry couldn’t help but be tense around him after an awkward conversation with Snape had revealed the fifth-year student had asked for permission to date him. It had only gotten worse with the article written by Theodore’s cousin. Soon the paper was going to have the results of the paternity tests; he hoped it wasn’t going to be a big deal and Theodore’s cousin didn’t decide to write another article. 

“Yeah, yes, fine,” Harry answered stumbling over his answer. “I’m fine.”

“Why don’t we get some breakfast?” Theodore asked. “Looks like there’s waffles.”

Harry nodded and Theodore’s hand slid down from Harry’s shoulder to link with Harry’s smaller hand. Harry bit his lip as he was tugged forward. He really wasn’t sure how to act around the other boy; how did you date someone you used to hate but couldn’t tell you had even known before? When Harry  _ literally  _ had nothing to talk about because he had no real past?

“Do you like sweet things?” Theodore asked as he pulled out Harry’s chair. “I remember you like ice cream.” He smiled. 

Harry sat in the chair feeling his face heat a bit. “Sometimes,” he said. “Not all sweet things, but some. I haven’t tried most of the sweets you seem to have here.”

“We’ll have to try Madame Puddifoot’s tea shop sometime,” Theodore said.

“You do realize I’m not a girl, right?” Harry asked, feeling a little offended. Madame Puddifoot’s? Really? “And even if I was, just because I’m willing to try dating doesn’t mean I’d want to go to a tea shop.”

“They have scones?” Theodore said, half frozen.

Harry scowled. “Not my point. Dates are supposed to be when you  _ do  _ things together. Like - like watch a movie, or go to a beach, or a dance, or something. Not sit around a tea shop. That’s where you take girls when you want to be-“ he scowled. How did he say it? Cheesy? Obvious? “-surrounded by obnoxious hearts and cupids.” Although he guessed two guys could go there as well. He wasn’t really sure. He’d never dated a guy before. 

Theodore finally sat down. “Very well. Perhaps we could find one of these - what did you call them? Movies?”

Harry shrugged. “Haven’t seen a tv around here, but we could do that.” Expect muggle devices didn’t work in Hogwarts. Guess it was time Corvus found out. He didn’t want to have too many stumbling conversations like the one about courting, after all. 

“What’s a tv?”

“A muggle device,” a Ravenclaw said from behind Harry, jumping into the conversation (much to Harry’s relief). “They have moving pictures on it with sound, and they use it to tell stories. The signal is sent out from a central location to all the receiving devices - that’s the tv, which is short for ‘television’ - and the tv’s play the show. They have movies which can be from an hour and a half to two hours long, or ‘shows’ which are stories split into pieces and told in half hour or hour long chunks. They also have ‘shorts’, which are very short pieces around 5 minutes or less. Muggles also show things on the tv like local news and weather, and they’ve even got devices you can hook up to it to play recordings.”

“Did you hear?” another Ravenclaw asked. “They also have video games now. There’s a console which you can buy that hooks up to the tv, and you stick something in it called a ‘cartridge’ and you can control characters on the screen! I want to try one when I get home for the holiday. My cousin Lucy’s a squib, and she’s obsessed with it. Says if she can’t do magic she wants to spend her days designing games.”

“Sounds… interesting,” Theodore hedged, his face pulled into a twisted frown which made him look rather silly. Harry snorted trying to hold back his laugh; he guessed the other boy was trying not to look disgusted. 

“I’m guessing you don’t have much experience with muggle things,” Harry said. “You look like you just ate something foul.”

“Why bother when wizarding things are so much better?”

“Ah - but with wizarding things you have to owl or floo to talk to someone, whereas if I want to talk to someone with a muggle phone all I have to do is call them,” Harry said, looking to the head table and Snape’s empty spot. With a cell phone he wouldn’t have needed to know where Snape was to call him, though they were expensive. Not even Dudley had gotten one. “Wizards may be able to do magic, but muggle technology certainly makes some things more convenient.”

“Oh really now?” Pansy challenged. “And how’s that? If neither you nor who you want to talk to has this ‘phone’ thing you’re still just going to floo them.”

“They have computers and the internet,” Harry said. “If you want to know something you can search for it and usually find it. You can store information there, and - okay, take the library for example. Some muggle libraries have a computer catalog of all their books. You can search the catalog and find all the books relevant to your subject even if they aren’t shelved together. And you can see if they are available or if they’ve been checked out, when they’re due back if they are out, and if the library has multiple buildings you can see which one it’s in.”

“Are you trying to sell us muggle items now?” she sneered.

“No, I just- that wasn’t my point,” Harry faltered. “I was just - I was just trying to say that muggles have different ways of doing things to make up for their lack of magic. And sometimes it’s more convenient to use the muggle ways, especially since we can’t use magic outside of the school year.”

“They do that in the United States too?” Giles asked, though he looked a bit reluctant to join in the conversation. His nose was wrinkled a bit, and for some reason he kept stealing glances at Knott.

“Isn’t it everywhere?” Harry asked. He hadn’t thought to ask. “Anyway, there are times I can’t use magic either because I’m not at school or because there are muggles around. So learning to use muggle technology was just… easier. You don’t have to be as careful.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Pansy said, “seeing as how you were around muggles and all. But now you don’t have to worry about that. Witches and wizards in England rarely have to deal with muggles.”

Harry frowned. “How do you avoid it?”

“There are wizarding communities, like Hogsmeade,” Theodore said.

“But where do they get their food? Do you have wizard farmers? What about fabric? Wood and bricks for building? Surely you can’t conjure all that - and if you transfigure it then the material can be de-transfigured!”

His classmates looked confused, and it was the Ravenclaw behind him that spoke up. “Most muggle-bought goods come through specific channels, and are delivered directly to servants. The Finch family, for example, gets most of the cotton for all the wizard shops. The muggles give their servants huge piles of cotton directly from the plants, and they give the muggles muggle money. They get it really cheap, and the servants then use magic to turn it to cloth. The Finches come up with the colors and designs, and the servants dye the fabric. Then it gets sold to retailers like Madame Maulkin’s or Gladrags, and they make robes from them and put on any special spells or enchantments.”

“I heard they moved to having houselves dye the fabrics,” another girl spoke up. “One too many servants mixed the dyes wrong.”

“Figures,” another girl, this one from Slytherin though Harry didn’t know her. “The servants were probably too busy fooling around. Momma says that’s what they do when you don’t keep a close watch on them. Besides, they’re too silly for delicate work.”

“Silly?”

“Don’t you know? Servants are the ones who flunk out of Hogwarts,” she said primly. “Or, well, they used to be. Ever since Dumbledore took over there hasn’t been a single dropout or failure. Momma thinks the school’s going soft - though she was scandalized by the size of our class. Hers was three times our size when she was attending.”

Harry ducked his head and ate his food, tuning out the conversation as it turned away from him. For a few moments it had been a nice distraction, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Glancing up at the head table, he wondered if he could talk to Snape about it. His father wasn’t at the head table, but he had to be back; there was no way he’d miss classes.


End file.
